


and heroes we shall be

by LtTanyaBoone



Category: X Company (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtTanyaBoone/pseuds/LtTanyaBoone
Summary: With London's order to increase the number of active agents in France, Camp X receives a new row of recruits to find the secret potential of and mold into the weapons the Allied Forces desperately need to win the war. *pre-series, possibly AU*





	1. Ch. 1 - Aurora

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. I don't have an update schedule. This may be AU in places, regarding recruitment, backstories, etc of the team.

She frowns at the paper, scanning the lines, trying to puzzle out the code. This isn’t making any sense. She knows the letters and numbers by heart now, having worked on so many the past two days. But this, none of this is lining up, none of it is forming a coherent word, never mind a sentence.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Aurora blinks and slowly lowers the message.

“They changed the codes,” she mutters and rubs a hand over her face. Exhaustion keeps tugging on her, trying to get her to take a rest, just, five minutes. Sit down and close her eyes and rest for a little, before she throws herself into this again. Maybe resting her eyes, it will make decoding messages easier.

Aurora gives a decisive shake of her head. Tries to dispel the lingering fatigue as she takes the papers and leaves the room with a brisk step.

Jojo starts from her own work as she throws the papers onto her desk.

“They have new codes,” Aurora tells her. And watches, as the French woman’s eyes widen in surprise, before her brows furrow in confusion.

Jojo puts her pencil behind her ear and takes the first page of the stack Aurora just tossed onto her workspace. Scans the lines with her eyes, lips moving silently as she tries to decode the message herself.

“Merde,” she breathes after a few moments and Aurora feels herself swallow thickly. She’d thought, maybe, there was a chance that they might have forgotten her. That Jojo didn’t know she hadn’t been given the new codes. It happens, sometimes, when they’re all scrambling and trying to keep up with an influx of missives. It’s a safety risk. A big issue, that they need to somehow address, though Aurora doesn’t know how. They don’t keep written records for safety reasons. Tracking who knows what in their circle, it sometimes gets, confusing.

Being left out of the loop, it’s dangerous. And so is sharing information that others don’t need. It’s a slippery slope they’re walking. Sliding down, each and every single day. Whenever they have to make a decision about who to trust, who to bring into confidence, it’s risky, no matter how much research they do on the person beforehand. There’s always the chance that they could be betrayed, yes. But the more pressing concern is that anyone could be captured by the Nazis, and when that’s the case, all the information they have had, it’s compromised. They can’t trust that they will not give them away to save themselves.

“Ah, shit,” Aurora mutters and steps back, her hands going into her hair. An entire day’s work, lost. Because someone, somewhere, in their line forgot to pass on vital information. It’s, frustrating. She hates these kinds of setbacks, because they seem like they’d be so easy to avoid, yet they keep happening.

“It will have to wait,” Jojo says with a shake of her head that makes her ginger curls dance. “We see them tonight, we’ll get the code then. In the meantime,” she frowns and grabs a newspaper. Turns the pages quickly, before she stops at an article. Her eyes flicker across the page before she squares her shoulders, bracing herself.

“Can you translate this?” she asks her. Slowly, Aurora reaches out and takes the paper. Scans it. Frowns.

“This is,” she starts, “this is, nonsense,” she tells her friend. “I mean, it makes sense, yes, and it may be something they’d report on. But it’s small town news, we don’t need-”

“We need this information,” Jojo shakes her head, her voice imploring. Takes a step closer and lowers her voice. “We had a request.”

Aurora feels her eyes widen and takes a long look at the woman. She’s worked with the Resistance for over a year, now. Ever since the Germans invaded France. In the past two months, there have been some tasks that were not part of the routine of their cell. A month ago, two operatives from another cell vanished. They just seemingly disappeared. Their friends told them not to worry, that they weren’t taken by the Germans. It makes her, nervous. Papers and flyers are one thing. Working with people who may very well be foreign agents is another.

But then again, it’s not like the Germans will treat her any differently, if she works with the Resistance, or if she’s caught working with a foreign spy. The price for either is a bullet to the head.

“Very well,” she nods and takes the paper. Goes to her desk and sits down and starts on translating the article for whoever needs it.

* * *

 

“Here,” René laughs and hands her a glass of wine. Aurora smiles at him and leans over. Brushes her lips over his cheek in thanks as she accepts it. Withdraws and takes a sip. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him rub the back of his neck as she feels warmth bubble inside her chest.

He’s been, nervous. They all have been. On edge and antsy. But at the café, it’s easy to pretend nothing’s wrong. Like they’re just a random group of friends, having a good time. That they live normal lives. As normal as they can be, under German occupation, that is.

Only it seems like the longer they are staying tonight, the more jittery René gets. Aurora keeps watching him. Sees him jiggle his leg and run his hand through his hair repeatedly. She reaches out and carefully strokes back a curl that keeps flopping back down. At his surprised expression, she smiles at him, and takes another sip of her wine.

“Has Maxime... Did he give you-”

“Yes, I have the phone number now,” Aurora nods quickly. She’s not sure how much he’s had tonight. If he might say something that would give them away. It’s better to cut him off, before he can incriminate them. The owner of the café seems like he is willing to turn a blind eye, to their, shenanigans, but there is no point in tempting fate. They can’t go around, putting people into positions of power over them, of where they may become a threat to them.

“Good,” René nods. “That’s good," he mutters. “You know what, I’ll just, I’ll, get some air,” he says and motions awkwardly before he gets up from the table. She watches him leave the café, his steps unhurried, frame tense as he hides his hands in the pockets of his pants. Her stomach rolls and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at it as she considers going after him.

“Aurora!”

“Sorry, what?” she shakes her head and turns to Pauline, trying to rid her mind of what’s going on, with René. He’s his own person. She’s sure that he has other things on his mind, as well. That this has nothing to do with the nature of what their group of friends do.

She manages, for five whole minutes. Then her curiosity gets the better of her, and she gets up. Tells Pauline she needs some air, and squeezes her shoulder. Tells her it’s fine, no, please, stay, enjoy the company.

It’s a lovely spring evening outside. Aurora closes her eyes and inhales the air. She loves Paris. Loves it so much. The beauty of this city, the gentleness of it. Ruined, by German soldiers and vehicles everywhere.

She shakes her head and shifts, crossing her arms as she casts a look around, searching for René. Tries to dispel her dark thoughts. She finds him across the street, leaning against a building with his arms crossed as he looks up into the sky. He seems to be in pretty deep thought, and she pauses for a moment, just to be able to look at him.

He’s handsome. She’s always thought so. Dark hair that curls slightly, strong jaw. Wonderful, kind eyes. And the soul of a writer. When she first met him, at the paper, she’d thought that he was another one of those arrogant men who would try to push her out any chance he got. But he hasn’t. Instead, he’s actually asked her for advice, has let her read some of his writing and looked for her input. He’s never dismissed her professional opinion, nor has he ever done so as they are working with the Resistance.

She gives a sharp shake of her head, pulling herself from her thoughts when she realizes she’s just been standing there, staring at him. She crosses the street, hurries over to him.

“Hey," she murmurs and ducks her head a little. “Is everything okay?” she inquires softly and René nods, but she searches his face still. Worries, that he may be taking on too much. That something is wrong that he’s not telling her about.

“Yes,” he sighs. “I was just, thinking,” he adds with a shrug.

“About what?” Aurora asks, resting against the building with one shoulder, facing him. Allows silence to stretch between them, when he doesn’t answer immediately. It gives her more time to study him. The line of his mouth, drawn downwards in deep though. The way his brows are furrowed, creating a crease between them.

“Are you writing a new piece?” she asks him in an attempt to get him to talk, when it becomes apparent that he won’t answer her question. It makes her excited, the prospect of getting to read some more of his work.René is an amazing writers. She immensely enjoys the way he can get words to just flow. It seems so effortless, when he does it. Her own pieces always sound so stiff to her by comparison. Though he has complimented her work, on occasion. Has quoted it to her, one time. It made her stare at him in surprise. That not only had he read something she wrote, but that it stuck with him in such a way that he’d remembered it later.

After he told her, what pseudonym he works under at the paper, she’s kept looking for his articles. Reads them, over and over again, to find him in the lines. To see hints of his personality peeking through in the space between the words.

“What?” he frowns, then shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s not work-related.”

“What is it, then?” she presses, searching his face. He draws a deep breath and lets out a sigh. He looks, sad. Tired. Just as exhausted as she feels, when she’s not with the group. The wine is buzzing in her blood, but she can feel it beginning to wear off, the fatigue creeping in again.

“Just, stuff,” René frowns. “This, actually,” he adds, turning is face back to the sky. “How our lives have changed, for all of us. How much they might continue to,” he says. It makes Aurora swallow hard. She barely remembers what her life was like, before the Germans waltzed into the city. It seems like decades ago. She was a lot younger, then. Or at least, it feels like she has aged a lot, these past few months. They all have. Especially Pauline. Aurora keeps catching herself as she looks at her and wonders how to preserve her innocence, how she can protect Pauline from this horrible reality of theirs.

“When he was my age, my father was engaged to be married to my mother,” he mutters, pulling Aurora from her thoughts. “And here I am, in this fucking war, and I can’t even say that I like y- someone, because it might put them in danger.”

Aurora tilts her head. Looks away, worries at her bottom lip. She hasn’t considered, this. That René could harbor feelings for someone. Thinking that he likes a girl, it’s, strange. And unpleasant sensation. Makes something dark gnaw at the insides of her stomach. Something heavy and ponderous she doesn’t like, at all.

“I thought about that, too,” she admits after a while. She has, it’s not a lie. But it still feels like one. Because the person she was thinking about, it was him.

She thinks that Maxime suspects, that he may be figuring out what’s going on in her head (or heart?), concerning René. They are close, by necessity. René drew her into his confidence, they started running this cell together. They trust each other implicitly. If it comes down to it, Aurora isn’t sure if any of the other members of their cell would sacrifice themselves to protect the rest. But she believes René would. He has this air about him, when they are talking about possible operations. Something in the way he carefully plans and selects the members of their group, it makes her think that he genuinely cares and doesn’t want to put them in danger.

“Maybe...” she frowns, looking for the right words. “Maybe telling the people we care about, would be the right decision?” she offers. “It would put them in danger, yes,” she adds at his incredulous look. “I don’t disagree with you on that. What we do, it is dangerous. Just being close to us, it puts them in danger, as well,” she allows. “But, perhaps knowing... maybe it would help them fight back, as well?” she tries.

It’s an argument she’s been having with herself a lot, these days. If she should tell René, about her feelings, for him. Or if it’s better to keep her silence, to keep as much of a distance between them as is possible.

“It might give them something to hold onto, in this war,” she adds when she feels him look at her, a curious expression on his face.

“It makes me fight harder,” he admits. "The thought that, once this is over, I get to, tell her. That when this war’s over, we might get to be together, get to be with each other.”

“See?” Aurora attempts a smile. “If she feels the same way, who knows. You might not have to wait until the end of the war, to be with her,” she shrugs. Tries to bite back the note of disappointment in her voice. The defeat.

He’s in love, she realizes. In love with some girl, and he thinks of her while fighting the Germans.

She should be happy, for him. That he has this. That he has someone who makes him want to fight, makes him want to keep fighting. For a better future, for them.

“You think I should?” he presses her. “I should tell her?”

“Maybe?” she mutters. Her heart clenches painfully in her chest and she lets out a slow breath.

“Yes,” she nods, biting back the disappointment. Grimaces, at the thought that made her think that she should share her feelings with him one of these days. “After all, we might not be here tomorrow,” she offers softly. These days, every single one could be their last, and if it is, then Aurora feels like it would be cruel, to tell René, to tell anyone, to postpone their happiness to a future that may never come for them.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he allows. Purses his lips for a moment, before he pushes himself off the wall slowly. He takes a step closer towards her, and Aurora watches him, berating herself for her own cowardice. She talks a lot, for someone who’s been too craven to act on her own feelings. If she had, maybe this conversation would be about something else entirely. But this, this is what she gets, for, hesitating. For keeping her feelings bottled up inside, for biting back words that may be too forward. René met someone else, and he’s fallen in love with them.

She wonders, briefly, if she knows who the woman is. If she’s met her, if they may even have worked together, in the past. For a strange second, she thinks it could be Pauline. He does seem to have a strange amount of affection, for the younger woman. She’d thought it was kind of paternal, an urge to protect her, not unlike the one Aurora has, herself. But there’s a chance she was mistaken, that she misread his feelings, his intentions.

The feeling of René’s fingers ghosting over the back of her hand startles her. Aurora jumps and looks down to see him take her hand. She frowns and looks up sharply at him,

“What are you-”

“What are you-” she starts, but then his lips are on hers, cutting off her question. Her eyes widen in stunned surprise, before they flutter close at the softness of his lips, the gentle pressure of them on her own. The nervous, sad knots in her stomach release and she feels those bubbles in her chest again. Little pieces of happiness that make her entire body tingle.

“René,” she whispers when he leans back after a moment. “What...”

“So, about those feelings,” he starts, lips tugging into his soft grin and she shakes her head at his antics before she draws a slow breath.

“Wait,” she breathes, as her brain catches up with his words. “This, you meant, it’s me?” she stammers. “The woman you were talking about, that’s, that’s me?”

René frowns at her as she tries to catch up with this development. It feels, surreal. She’s never, in the moments she’s allowed herself to entertain the idea of what telling René what she feels for him, it never occurred to her that he might feel the same way, about her. She’d always considered that just wishful thinking. He certainly never really gave her any cause to think he cared for her, beyond their work and a lose friendship based on an understanding of what the other is going through.

“Who did you think I was talking about?” he asks her, sounding confused and hurt at the same time.

“I don’t know!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up into the air. Takes a shuddering breath as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her. He was actually talking about her, this whole time. “I thought, maybe, I don’t know. Someone from the paper. Maybe even Pauline-”

“Pauline?” he repeats, a bark of laughter leaving René. “Aurora, she’s a little girl!”

It makes her glare at him. Yes, Pauline is younger than they are. Is barely of age. But that usually doesn’t stop men, nor does it mean that she’s not a great person and any man would be lucky to have her as his wife-

“I don’t like Pauline,” René’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. “I like you,” he adds, sounding sincere as he lowers his voice. “I care about you a lot, Aurora,” he whispers, searching her face, an anxious look in his eyes. It makes her heart jump into her throat and she has to swallow thickly and clear her throat, before she’s able to speak.

“I rather care about you, too,” she admits. It feels like a weight is being lifted off her chest at the admission. Especially when she sees the corners of his lips tug into this grin of his again. She shakes her head at René and lifts her arms to wrap them around his neck. Toys with the soft hair at the nape of his neck as she looks into his eyes.

She’s, exhausted. Absolutely drained, emotionally. But at the same time, she feels happy and giddy and as if she’s suddenly become invincible. It’s a dangerous combination, but it feels good.

“The person,” René starts, “that made you think about whether or not you should tell them, about your feelings...” He trails off, brows creasing. She slowly nods.

“Yes,” Aurora confirms, feeling a blush heat up her cheeks. “That was you,” she tells him, a soft laugh leaving her when his face lights up and he leans in to kiss her again. Feels his hands settle on her hips as he opens his mouth and she sighs before she does the same, feeling so utterly giddy and calm at the same time.

* * *

Her shoes clack loudly against the cobblestones as Aurora quickens her steps. She looks over to find René falling behind and rolls her eyes at him.

She grabs his hand, pulling him along as they hurry down the street. Or rather, she hurries, and René drags his feet.

“Come on, we’re late,” Aurora shakes her head at him.

“I am hurrying,” he frowns and reaches up to press the heel of his hand against his temple. “I’m never drinking again,” he mutters. It makes her slow down and lean in to brush her lips over his cheek. She reaches out with her free hand and smoothes down his lapels somewhat, before she runs her fingers through his thick, dark hair.

They went a little, crazy, last night. Emptied two bottles of wine, between the two of them. She has a hangover from hell, her skull is filled with a dull throbbing that spikes whenever there’s a loud sound.

Both René and her have kind of stopped caring, about what his neighbors may think, when she keeps spending the night. She’s pretty sure that the old hag above him knows very well when Aurora is at his place. The old bat seems to have nothing better to do than to sit at her window all day and judge people as she watches them go by the house. Aurora thinks she knows the schedule of everyone in that block. It’s dangerous, in a way, to have someone be so, vigilant, so well informed about what happens in the neighborhood even though no one talks to her directly. It’s what the Germans count on, for their intelligence: neighbors that grow bitter and will sell out the people in their buildings out of sheer spite.

She tries to smile at the woman and greet her with an easy voice whenever she catches her and René together. Tries to limit her eye rolling to where the woman won’t see.

“I think buying a second alarm will be a good investment,” she says. Feels him squeeze her hand before he gives a sharp tug, pulling her to him and almost sending them both to the ground. He lets out a laugh and kisses her and Aurora shakes her head at his antics.

Waking up in his bed, her legs tangled with his as he held her close, that was the perfect start to her day. Well, for the few minutes before either one of them was awake enough to realize that they overslept and missed the alarm and will therefore be late to the meeting at the café. Aurora wants to kick herself for that. She should have made sure that they set the alarm, should have made sure that they wouldn’t miss it. Or fall asleep again after shutting it off.

“Hm, I love you,” he murmurs against her lips, and she lets a content sigh leave her.

“I love you, too,” she replies softly, looking into his eyes. She loves him, loves him so much. It’s been barely a few months, since that night when he told her, about having feelings for her, yet Aurora cannot imagine her life without him any more. Truth be told, she had trouble thinking of her life without René in it even before that night, already in love with him. But now she knows that he loves her, as well. Loves her back. She knows what it’s like, to kiss him. To dance with her body pressed close against his, René guiding them to the music. Knows what it feels like, slowly being undressed by him. Know what it’s like, to make love with René. Drunk or sober, it’s always special, always feels, magical. The way his touch makes her body come alive in a new way, how kissing him can make fireworks go off behind her eyelids.

Sometimes, she wonders if this is what her mother feels, for her father. What he felt when he first met her. If this is what made him leave Germany and follow her to Canada. Because she’s only been with René for such a short time, but there’s no doubt in Aurora’s mind that she’d follow him, to the ends of the Earth, and beyond, if she had to. There are days when thinking of him and the future they may have is the only thing that will get her out of bed.

“René,” she murmurs, a warning edge creeping into her voice when he kisses her again. It’s not that they’re kissing on some Parisian street in broad daylight, she doesn’t care about that. But they’re horrifically late to meeting the others and their friends will worry if something happened to them. They really, really need to get a move on.

“Alright, meeting, yes,” he says with a shake of his head. Pulls back and takes her hand. He gives it a tight squeeze and Aurora nods and they hurry along together. As he quickens his pace, she’s starting to find it difficult, to keep up with him. Her shoes weren’t made for running, especially not on cobbled streets, and Aurora struggles to keep her balance as he pulls her along, a soft laugh leaving him when she gives him a glare.

He’s the first to round the corner, and Aurora suddenly crashes into his back as he freezes.

“Hey, what are-” she starts but he has her hand over her mouth and pushes her back. Presses her against the wall, a frantic look in his eyes.

“Shut up shut up shut up,” he hisses and Aurora feels panic rise inside of her at the expression in his eyes. They’re so wide and fearful and she can feel his heart hammer in his chest as he presses her against the wall, his knee between her legs.

“Not a word,” René breathes when she pointedly looks down at his hand. She nods mutely and he lowers it slowly, as if he’s afraid she will yell out for help. She doesn’t. Keeps quiet and watches him, searching his face and inquiring wordlessly what it is, what’s wrong? René moves, slowly takes a step aside and leans his back against the wall, pressing next to her as his chest moves rapidly. Aurora slowly leans forward, risking a glance around the corner. And feels her blood run cold at the sight of the trucks in front of the building.

She quickly pulls back, presses herself against the roughened stone. Clenches her eyes shut in an effort to stave off the tears of fear and panic.

“Shit,” she breathes. Gropes blindly for René’s hand. Feels him hold onto hers tightly, his palm sweaty as her heartbeat thunders in her ears. They nearly ran right into a truckload of German soldiers. It scares her, how close they just came to getting captured.

He moves again. Leans forward and Aurora takes a breath to brace herself before she does the same, so she, too, can take a look at what’s happening around the corner, at the café. Take in the situation.

Maxime is kneeling on the cobbled street in front of the café, hands bound behind his back. Next to him are Jojo, Pière, Pauline, all in similar positions. Aurora’s heart aches at the Pauline’s terrified expression, her wide eyes. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen her as frightened, as terrified as she looks right then. Soldiers are guarding them, one of them has his gun out, aimed at Jojo’s head. It makes Aurora’s heart skip a beat before it picks up the rapid pace in her chest, the sound of her own blood rushing through her body filling her ears.

“Come,” René whispers and pulls her back. “Aurora, let’s go.”

“But-” she starts, and has to swallow down the lump of fear and despair in her throat. They need to do something. They have to help their friends, find a way to get them out of this situation. If they don’t, they’ll be killed. The Nazis are going to hang them for treason, or shoot them. It doesn’t matter, what matters is that they all risked their lives for this country. They are all members of the Resistance, and Aurora promised, she promised she’d try everything in her power to protect them. They have to do something, she has to keep that promise. René and her, they’re the ones who are responsible for running this cell. They can’t just, abandon the others. This isn’t, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, how this works. They’re a team, they protect each other-

“We have to leave. Now,” he shakes his head. She casts a look back, tears brimming in her eyes.

It’s useless. She knows that. Anything René and her do, about what’s currently unfolding at the café, it will most likely end up with them also getting captured, with them losing their lives, as well. She draws a shaky breath and reaches up to wipe a tear from the corner of her eyes. Says a quick apology, to her friends, and to Pauline’s parents. They’re nice people, she met them once. She said she’d look out for their daughter, and here she is, about to just, turn her back and abandon her to her fate.

René takes her hand and gives it a soft tug and Aurora lets out a shaky breath before she pushes herself off the wall and they set out at a run, fleeing the scene. Race down streets and take corners until Aurora feels herself becoming disoriented, until her lungs are burning and her feets begin to trip on the cobblestones.

René slows them down to a brisk walk, his chest heaving beside her as he tries to catch his breath. He keeps looking into shop windows, trying to see if someone may be following them. It makes her dig out her compact and lift it, so she can have a look behind them by using the mirror. There’s a pair of police officers, but they’re talking to a man in a car and don’t seem to be paying them any attention.

“Where are we going?” Aurora inquires, once her lungs no longer feel like they’re about to burst.

They can’t go back to their apartments. If the Nazis found the café, there a chance they know who they are. And if they don’t, it’s only a matter of time before they do. Aurora thinks that there’s a picture of them all, at the café. At least there’s one with René and her and Maxime and Jojo toasting. She doesn’t think Michel, or his sister, that they’d lie and claim that it’s just a coincidence. They don’t know them, they don’t work for the Resistance. They don’t have an incentive to try and protect René and her.

And if they know their identities, it won’t be hard to find them. Find their apartments, find out where they work, who they talk to. René’s nosy neighbor comes to mind, the woman will surely tell the Gestapo anything they would want to know about them and their routines.

“The catacombs,” René says, his voice strained, an edge of fear bleeding into it. “We, we have to disappear,” he mutters, and Aurora isn’t sure if he’s talking to her, or himself.

She looks over her shoulder as they cross the street, her nerves settling just a little when she doesn’t see the police officers any longer.

“Did you, count?” he asks and Aurora finds herself frowning at him and the strange question, before she realizes what he’s asking. She tries to close her eyes as they continue their way through the maze of streets, tries to remember the horrific scene at the café.

“Uh, I think, fif- sixteen,” she finally says, after she nearly trips over her own two feet. René pulls her around a corner and then pauses, leaning against the building to catch his breath. He straightens and touches her cheek, his fingers trembling. Aurora closes her eyes and turns her face into the touch. Tries to soak up as much energy as his proximity will provide her with. Tries to resist the urge to wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she possibly can and hold onto him for dear life.

“Sixteen or seventeen,” René says, after a few moments. His expression darkens and he looks away. “Maybe someone else was late," he offers meekly and Aurora swallows at the words.

Maybe. Maybe someone was just lucky, like them, and overslept. Or perhaps someone didn’t come to the meeting, because they knew what was going to happen. Maybe someone in their own circle sold them out, she thinks darkly.

“Come on,” she murmurs and takes René’s hand to pull him along. She’s getting her bearings now, has figured out where they are. They’re not far from an entrance into the catacombs, just five more blocks, and then they’ll be in safety. Well, relatively safe, at least. Much safer than they are now, out in the open on the streets like this.

* * *

The thought of someone having been watching them, of someone keeping tabs on René and her, it sends a shiver of fear down her spine. Not just that someone was watching, but the fact that, despite their best efforts, they were so easy to keep track of.

Part of her wonders, what would be happening to her, if she weren’t his girlfriend. There’s no doubt in her mind that their interest is purely for René, that he’s the one they want to protect and recruit to their side. Well, it’s their side, as well, the same one they’ve been fighting on all this time.

They left Paris behind days ago. This is the third, and last night at this barn. That is, if all goes according to plan. If it does, tomorrow, they will be picked up by a plane, and then they will go to spy training.

It still feel surreal. Aurora has moments when she wonders if she imagined that bizarre conversation with the man dressed like a farmer, with a British accent. Who was waiting for them after they fled Paris, at the drop-of another Resistance cell organized. Who told them that there were people willing to help them get out of the country, if they would consider joining the fight in an official capacity. As official as being a secret agent is, at least.

Spy training. It’s like, being a member of the French Resistance, that wasn’t enough. Now her country is actually asking her to cross the line into downright espionage, and treason, and whatever else.

And the funny thing is, what she’s currently worrying most about, is how she’s supposed to explain any of this to her parents. Her mother is already worried beyond belief. She’s been begging her to leave France and return home for months now. Has implored her to at least leave Paris, for a place that might be saver, somewhere with less of a German presence. Even her father implored her to come home.

Maybe they’ll get their wish, now. Because Aurora doesn’t think she will be able to last one day, in spy training. She’s, she’s not cut out for that kind of stuff. She’s a journalist, she’s a translator. She’s relatively good with words and at reading people, but that’s, that’s it. Even her planning skills are low. René, he’s the real brains behind this, he’s the real leader, the actual asset that Canada is trying to score. But Aurora, she doesn’t have any skills, or stamina, or anything else that would set her apart. That would qualify her as someone who could actually fight in this war. That’s why she went into the Resistance, because that had been her only chance of fighting the Germans.

René sits down next to her, and Aurora reaches out, genly running her fingertips over the smooth skin of his jaw. First proper shave in three weeks. She may actually miss his stubble, she suddenly thinks. It gave him a strangely handsome look she got used to, over the past few weeks.

“Hey,” René whispers and leans in. Touches his forehead against hers. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft. It makes her swallow thickly.

“Yes,” she lies. Is pretty sure that he knows it’s a lie, too. But she doesn’t want to talk about this, right now. Doesn’t want to get into the many, many ways in which she isn’t okay.

“Worst outcome, I have to find a way into France myself again,” she jokes. It makes him let out a soft laugh as he cradles her face, and the sound stirs something inside of her. Something that may actually be a hint of, happiness. But as she watches, he sobers, searching her eyes.

“You know they actually want you, right?” he inquires softly. Aurora’s eyes widen in surprise, and she quickly shakes her head. “Come on,” René protests. “Between the two of us, you’ve got the more impressive resume. Three languages, plus journalism, plus Resistance work, plus looking killer in a dress and high heels.”

“René...” she sighs. Worries at her lip as she ducks her head, uncertain of how she’s supposed to tell him it’s okay, that she gets it. That she understand he’s more valuable than her, to their, benefactors. The leader of a Resistance cell, a journalist, bilingual, a man with decent stamina and planning skills.

“We’ll manage,” he tells her. “We’re gonna get through training, and then we’re gonna come back. You’ll see, it’ll be easy. And once we’re back in Paris, we’ll get the asshole who took our friends.”

She swallows thickly. Tries to fight down the tears that are threatening to fall again. She’s been so, consumed, by this overpowering sense of grief and despair these past weeks. The thought of all of their friends, gone. Maxime with the crooked smile, Jojo with the brilliant sparkle in her eyes. Pauline with her whole life ahead of her. And it’s their fault. Her fault. They dragged them into this, they painted huge targets on their backs. And when the worst came to happen, they weren’t there. They weren’t there to protect them, even though they’d promised, and now they’re all dead and she’s just as much to blame as the Germans.

“We’ll make them pay,” she nods, stubbornly wiping away a tear that falls from her eye.

“All of them. Every single one of them will pay,” René nods and Aurora seals their vow with a kiss.


	2. Ch. 2 - Harry

“Wait up!”

He slows his steps, turning to look who’s being called. And finds himself utterly surprised as a girl hurries down the sidewalk, smiling at him. Feels himself flush as she falls into step beside him.

“Thank God," she mutters. "I thought you’d left already...” she trails off, her brows dipping slightly. “I take Professor Whinget’s class,” she tells him. Holds out her hand. “My name is Sarah,” she says, a brilliant smile on her face.

“Harry,” he manages to get out and takes her hand briefly, before dropping it. Stares at his feet. “Do you, like it?” he asks after a block. “The class, I mean," he adds, feeling his cheeks heat up yet again. He’s, not good at this. Talking to girls. Especially not ones that are as pretty as her.

“Yes,” she declares, her voice confident. “It is quite hard, but I like the challenge. I think,” she adds, tilting her head a little. He gives a mute nod of agreement. He likes the class, too. It’s not boring, for a change. Not like he struggles, with keeping up, but he does have to pay attention during lecture to be able to do the assignments.

“Do you find it, difficult?” she inquires. He gives her a surprised look and she ducks her head a little.

“It just... You looked, a little, bored? I was sitting behind you, and you were one of the first, to finish the calculations today,” she points out to him. Harry gives a slight shrug and reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

“I guess I, found the concept easy to understand?” he offers. “It felt like it was one of the easier ones we’ve covered this semester.”

“Maybe,” Sarah frowns. “But to be honest, I still found myself struggling through it. And it made me think... that is, I was wondering, maybe you would, like to, tutor me?”

Now she is blushing. It looks pretty, the rosy tint to her tanned cheeks. Her black hair is pulled back into a braid. She’s not wearing any lipstick, he notices. Why he looks at her lips, Harry doesn’t know. He quickly looks up again, to her eyes, which are narrowing slightly as he fails to answer her question.

“Tutor you?” he repeats a little stupidly.

“Yes,” Sarah nods. Pauses in her steps and worries at her lip. “It was, different, at school. Easier. But now I’m, struggling. With the equations. I understand the formulas, I know when to use them. But when it comes to actually puzzling out an answer, a result, I...” she trails off, her shoulders slumping.

“Oh,” Harry breathes. Prays, that she won’t start crying now. He’s not, not good, with girls. He can’t say the right things, can’t make them feel better. Girls, don’t like him. He’s a nerd, he likes numbers and chemistry and stuff like that. Girls don’t have any interest in that. At least most girls don’t. Sarah does, apparently. And she’s asking for his help. Maybe, if he does this right, maybe he’ll, manage to, make a friend. She won’t ever go out with him, he knows that. She’s way too pretty, for someone like him. With a bad haircut and glasses and knowledge of how to assemble a radio from spare parts and the inventory of the science lab memorized so he can get away with sneaking some stuff here and there and not be caught-

“I’d pay you,” she tells him, giving him what may be called a ‘puppy look’. And he knows he’s a goner.

“Sure,” he nods. Even though he has no idea if he can actually explain to her how to do the calculations. He’s never had to, to anyone else before. He works best alone. Even the guys he sometimes talks to, they all toss around formulas and ideas without any struggle. He’s never talked to anyone so he could have something explained to him, or had someone else ask him to explain something.

And then there’s the fact that he doesn’t really know, how to fit her into his schedule, as well. He has a load of classes, lectures and seminars and instructionals he takes, and then there’s the radio club and his little side project, and between all of that, he’s really quite booked. But she seems so friendly and lost, and he can’t really say no to her.

“Only, uh, I can’t... I live in the dorm. I can’t, tutor you there,” he suddenly remembers. Another reason why this is just an all-out bad idea in general.

“Oh,” Sarah breathes. “I thought we could just use the library,” she frowns and Harry wants to hit himself over the head. The library. Right, she’s so right, why didn’t he think of that. Now she’ll think he thought she was asking for something else and not tutoring, and it will be weird, and she won’t ever talk to him again-

“I have to help my father today, but we could meet tomorrow, at, five? In the afternoon, of course,” she suggests and Harry quickly nods, relieved that at least she hasn’t changed her mind already.

“Yes, that, that works,” he agrees. He usually does his assignments around that time, he can push those back a couple hours. It’s not like he has a vast social life he has to accommodate for. Much to his surprise, he finds her smiling again, her whole face lighting up.

“I will see you then, Harry,” she grins and leans in to brush her lips over his cheek in thanks, before she hurries along, leaving him to stare after her, dumbfounded.

* * *

He’s in some deep shit. He knows that. The handcuffs are a pretty good indication. And so is the pain he feels in his ribs and kidneys. Wow, that guy had really known how to kick, Harry thinks as he shifts on the chair, grimacing in pain.

He’s lost track of time. Doesn’t know how long he’s been here, or where ‘here’ is, for that matter. They came for him in the late afternoon. Burly guys who blackbagged him and hit him until he stopped resisting. There was a very uncomfortable ride in a truck, then being dragged around and down flights of stairs before someone had shoved him into this chair and pulled the bag from his head.

He’s been alone since then. Alone, sitting in this stupid chair, surrounded by brick walls with a mirror on one side. He wonders if there’s someone on the other side, watching him. Watches, as he sweats and tries to figure out how he might get out of this predicament.

He hasn’t done anything wrong, he doesn’t think. Well, aside from, sneaking some chemicals every once in a while. But only small amounts, nothing big. Nothing that might be noticed, or would really get him into trouble.

The door to the room opens and he flinches from the sudden bright light. Squeezes his eyes shut and blinks in an effort to get them used to the light.

He hears the scrape of the other chair pulled back from the desk. Squints in the brightness and manages to make out the form of a man sitting down opposite him. Tall man. With muscles. Wearing a uniform.

Oh shit, he thinks and squeezes his eyes shut again. Draws a ragged breath and tries to work up his courage to say something.

“Harry.”

His head whips around and he stares for a second, surprise overwriting the pain. Stares at Sarah standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed tightly. It takes him a bit, to understand, to comprehend, why she’s even here. To fully understand that no, he’s no hallucinating from his concussion, she really is standing there, watching him with a carefully blank expression on her face.

“Harry James,” the man says.

Now that his eyes are starting to adjust, Harry can see him purse his lips as he reads a file in front of him. He must have brought it with him, because it hadn’t been there before, Harry doesn’t think. He would have noticed. Would have tried to read it himself, to help him figure out why he is here in this interrogation room.

“You’re quite the little engineering talent, aren’t you?” the man asks. Puts down the file and looks at him expectantly. Harry swallows thickly.

“Why, am I here?” he inquires softly. Hates, how his voice shakes. As if he’d manage to convince them that he’s not scared shitless right now if he’d managed to keep it steady.

“Direction finding van,” the military guy tells him. “Led us to your dorm room.”

Shit. He forgot about those. Which seems like a huge oversight, on his part. And it’s not like he really forgot they exist, he only failed to consider that they’d be using them close to campus, or even on it. Though the longer he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. Supplies and knowledge concentrated in one place, of course their military would do their damndest to make sure no one was spying and telling secrets.

“Let me ask you a very easy question, Harry James,” the man says and watches his face intently. “Are you an enemy spy?”

“What?” he breathes. He’s kidding, right? He has to be. Like, he’s, he’s, Harry. Just, nerdy little Harry. Who likes chemistry and morse code and engineering. Loves assembling and taking apart radios. Who occupies his hands with fiddling around with copper wire and tools. Who thinks too much, about potential and maybe, and perhaps and ‘could that work’ for his own good.

“You’re joking, right?” he asks when the guy opposite him keeps just staring him down. “I’m not an enemy agent," he shakes his head. Looks over at Sarah, pleads silently with her. He’s been tutoring her, for what? Four, five weeks, now? Surely she must know, how ridiculous an accusation this is.

He’d never, ever, do anything against his country. He loves Canada. Well, maybe not exactly ‘loves’, but, it’s a decent place to live. He’s got nothing against it, really, honestly. Most of the time, he likes it. Sure, there are problems, but it’s much better here, than in other parts of the world. Like, say, Germany, right now. He doesn’t even want to imagine what that might be like.

“What were you doing with that radio?” Sarah asks him, her voice holding an edge he’s absolutely unfamiliar with. She looks, older, too. Though that may be the way she’s pinned up her hair. And the lipstick. Oh, and the uniform, too. He supposes that kind of doesn’t hurt, with the whole ‘adult in charge’ vibe she’s giving off. The Sarah he knows, she wears thick handmade sweaters and long skirts and keeps her hair in a braid and never wears makeup at all, at least not that he could tell. And she’s always been kind of shy, too, but the expression in her eyes now is a far cry from the person that used to sit opposite him at the library.

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “Just, playing,” he adds when she frowns. “Come on,” he exclaims. “I founded the hobbyist radio club at this school!” he reminds them. “If I were a spy, I wouldn’t have done that, would I?”

The man tilts his head slightly, as if admitting he does have a point there.

“When the van found your transmitter,” the man says and looks down at the file, “you were transmitting at 45 words a minute.”

“Really?” he asks, his eyes widening. So he has been getting better. Which he totally isn’t proud of, in this moment. Absolutely not. It just, it’s kind of, nice, knowing that his practice is paying off. He actually likes morse code.

“All we got, was scrambled code. What were you transmitting?” the man inquires, watching his face intently.

“Oh,” he mutters, blushing a little. It’s kind of embarrassing, actually. “It’s, uh, it’s from a book. I was just, trying to see, how the encryption system would keep up.”

“What book?” Sarah presses. He looks over at her and lets out a soft sigh, his shoulders slumping. Any chance he may have ever had with her is over anyway, so he might as well tell them.

“Peter Pan,” he murmurs. To his surprise, Sarah actually hurries from the room at his admission. Great. Now he chased her off. Got himself handcuffed and dragged away by military police, and the only girl who’s looked at him twice, who’s actually talked to him runs off when he admits he knows Peter Pan.

* * *

“You like things that go boom, Harry?”

Uniform guy is back. His tie is looser now, his sleeves rolled up a little. They left him alone for a bit. Left him to stew, and mull over all his bad choices, and the answers he’s been giving them so far.

They let him have some water. And gave him a bucket, to pee in. It’s in the corner, smelling awful. Military guy doesn’t seem bothered, by the smell.

Judging by how hungry he’s getting, it must be getting really late. Or early. He can see scruff, on the man’s jaw. He hasn’t shaved in a while. Maybe it’s a, what is it called? Five o’clock shadow?

Harry forces himself to concentrate. Shakes his head and repeats the last question to himself, silently, so he may figure out an answer to it.

“I’m a chemistry major,” he points out. He’s been helping Sarah with her calculations, too. Corrected her work for classes they aren’t taking with each other.

“You recognize this?” the man asks and puts a sheet of paper down. On it is Sarah’s handwriting. Complex formulas and equations. Alongside are his corrections.

“How did you get-” he starts, before he remembers. Remembers Sarah, in her uniform. The betrayal still smarts. How she lied to him, how she misled him. How she may have very well have helped him incriminate himself even further. Coaxed him out of his shell and made him show how dangerous his knowledge might be, when he’d never dream to use it for anything that might hurt his country.

She hasn’t come back. Hasn’t returned, since she left the room. He’s kind of glad, to be honest. That she doesn’t have to smell the stench of his urine. That he doesn’t have to look at her.

“Do you know, what this does?” military man asks.

“It goes boom,” Harry can’t resists but throw his own words back at the man.

It had been a thought experiment, she’d said. Something Sarah had worked on, in her spare time. Something her professor had said, during lecture, had made her wonder, and then she’d started thinking about it more, and then this had happened, and she’d wanted to know, what he thought. Harry knows that feeling. Of having a brain that doesn’t quite stop, not really. That clings to small flickers and blows them up into ideas and before he knows what’s happened it’s two in the morning and he’s gone through half a notepad, trying to figure out a way to make this latest idea work.

The man watches him intently. Searches his face as he leans back in his chair.

“You were transmitting Peter Pan,” he says, and Harry feels relief flood him.

“Yes!” he exclaims. “Yes, I told you. I was just trying to see, if it works-” he cuts himself off. Bites back further attempts to explain, to make them understand, that he’s not a danger. That really, all he wants, is to figure out if his inventions work. But if they ask him to, he will never work on anything besides his studies again. He just, he doesn’t want to get kicked out of University. He needs his degree, so he can go into research. He’ll do anything they want, if that will allow him to go back to his courses.

“We would like to use, your system,” the man tells him.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Yeah, sure,” he shrugs after a moment of thinking. Anything to get him out of here. If it’s important, if it will help their army, he’ll let them have everything. His encryption system, his research, his calculations, all of it. If only he can return to Uni, can pick up his studies again and forget about this, incident, or whatever it was.

“Mister James.”

He snaps out of his thoughts with a jolt at the sharpness of the man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, what?” he mutters, feeling himself blush as he realizes the man has been talking and he has no idea what he said, because he was so preoccupied, with his own thoughts.

“How would like, to work for us?”


	3. Ch. 3 - René

She’s sleeping, her head lolling slightly as the train continues to travel further North.

René turns a little in his seat and continues to watch Aurora. He’s been doing that since the raid on the café. Since they fled into the catacombs and went into hiding, they haven’t been sleeping at the same time. One of them always had to keep watch, while the other got some fitful rest, and he usually spent most of his time on watch actually watching her sleep. Spent it memorizing her face. The way it softens in sleep, the way her brows would smooth out and her lips open just a little, soft breaths escaping.

On this train, right now, as he watches Aurora sleep, her head moving with the train’s movements, it feels like the first sleep either one of them has gotten, since the raid on the café.

It’s good, to see her rest. The dark circles under her eyes, they worry him. He hates seeing her run so ragged. They were approaching their limits, before the raid. Their legitimate work and the underground work with the Resistance spreading them thin, burning through their energy resources faster than they could replenish them. But ever since they watched their friends kneel on the cobbled streets of Paris, neither one of them really has been able to rest and catch their breath. It always feels like he’s constantly watching over his shoulders as he tries to cover Aurora’s back. Whatever happens to him, he cannot allow any harm to come to her. He swore he’d protect her, whatever it takes, and he’s going to keep that promise, even if it ends up killing him.

But now, the farther away they get, from Paris, from France, the more he feels like he might just be able to relax a little. And slowly, he can see the tension and nerves leave Aurora, as well. Last night, she even giggled at a horrible joke he saw in the paper and read to her. The sound had been, unexpected. Jarring, in the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the ramshackle room they crashed at. But it had been wonderful, too. To see her eyes sparkle with humor, even for just a moment. To be able to hear her be, carefree, if only for an instant.

He misses Paris. And more than that, he misses her in Paris. He knows Aurora adores the city. Knows she loves it beyond reason. He doesn’t entirely understand what it is that draws her to it. That made her stay, when the Germans invaded France. Especially given her personal case. He knows why he stayed. It was his home, in a way, and he couldn’t just run to safety and leave everyone he knew to fend for themselves. He had to do something, he had to find a way to fight back.

Maybe that’s why Aurora stayed, as well. The urge to fight back, to make the occupation as unpleasant as possible for the Nazis. To do everything in her might to protect even one person. To make a difference.

“This one taken?”

Anger flares up inside of him as Aurora’s head jerks, her eyes opening as she sits up straighter in her seat.

“Pardon?” she mumbles and rubs a hand over her eyes before she turns her head to the side and up, to look at the intruder, the man who’s just interrupted her rest.

René finds himself sighing and shakes his head as he looks over to the grinning blonde guy that’s standing there, obnoxious American accent coating his words.

“This seat, is it taken,” he repeats. Glances, briefly, at René, before his attention is on Aurora again and he gestures at the spot next to her.

“No,” she shakes her head, her brows furrowing a little in confusion.

“Great,” the guy beams and slides down into the seat next to hers. Aurora tenses and looks at him, confused and scandalized at the same time.

“I don’t think sitting there’s a good idea,” he tells him, once René finds his voice and is certain that he won’t curse at the guy immediately. Finds, actually, with surprise, that he sounds a lot less angry than he feels. He just sounds tired.

“Really?” the man inquires, his eyebrows lifting as he tears his gaze away from Aurora. “Why not, pray tell?”

The anger flares in his stomach again, white hot flame so familiar as it shoots up from his stomach, into his chest. How he wants to reach out and knock that fucking grin off the bastard’s face-

“You’re American?”

René blinks and turns his head. Stares at Aurora and searches her face. Silently asks her, if she is serious. This guy, this infuriating idiot, he’s interrupted the first half-decent sleep she’s had in weeks, and now he’s blatantly flirting with her. And she decides to indulge him?

“Yes, Ma’am,” he nods, tipping his head at her. “Tom Cummings," he introduces himself and holds out his hand for her to shake.

“Aurora,” she tells him, ignoring the offered hand in favor of reaching across the table between their opposite seats and taking René’s hand for a moment. “This is René,” she introduces him, and he forces what he hopes is a welcoming smile. Hopes that not too much of the ‘yes, asshole, that’s right’ is showing on his face, right now. Because Aurora, she lets her touch linger. Holds his hand and looks at him, a soft smile on her lips, in a way that even the densest idiot would get the message. Probably.

“Ah,” Cummings mutters, understanding dawning on him. “Nice to meet you,” he says, shifting a little in his seat. Leans away a bit, from her and crosses his arms and René sees Aurora turn her face to look out the window at the landscape flying past the train. He doesn’t miss the soft smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth and shakes his head at her in amusement.

* * *

He shifts and crosses his arms. Feels Aurora tense, next to him, as they stand among the other recruits. They’re still wearing their civilian clothing. His nondescript khaki uniform is sitting on the chair next to his bed, he’ll put it on first thing tomorrow morning.

“In the next four days, you will go through what we call the Student Assessment Board. There will be a variety of tests, both physical and mental, to see if you have got what it takes, to be working as an agent.”

The man in the uniform introduced himself as Colonel Greer. He’s actually pretty old, René thinks. For someone who’s supposed to be testing them, judging their physical fitness, that is. He has a mustache that keeps trembling when he speaks. It looks a little, comical, on him, and René wonders briefly how many recruits have been chewed out by him and subsequently burst into laughter because of that trembling piece of hair.

“You’re all here, because you have the potential, to become agents. You will all take the same tests. Physical tests, personality tests,” he continues.

“Each and every single one of you may be asked to leave at any stage during the selection process, if we judge you unsuitable candidates,” the woman next to him continues. That had been a surprise. Seeing a woman in military uniform. She’s a Lieutenant, that one. Something with an R, he forgot already, having been too perplexed at the sight of her to process the introduction of their instructors.

He’s also finding that Aurora, she’s not the only woman here. There are four others, two of them older than her, one around her age, and then there’s another, a younger one. One who reminds him so painfully of Pauline, with her big, nervous eyes and youthful features.

He keeps thinking of her. Of young, innocent Pauline. Who believed in wrong and right, who had such conviction behind her words. Who never raised her voice to make her point. And who laughed so much. Who could laugh until tears were streaming down her face and everyone else had already forgotten what was so funny while she continued to giggle and let out barks of laughter in-between ragged breaths, apologizing over and over, but unable to get a grip, until half the cell was laughing and grinning with her.

He misses Pauline most of all Out of everyone, she’s the one that keeps haunting him in his dreams.

There are twenty of them, new recruits in the war against Hitler. He’s counted. Five of them women, the rest men. There are a handful that look like they’re down to wrestle, but most of them are kind of scrawny. Have a nervous look about them. Earlier, when the train arrived at the station, they had to climb into army trucks. A couple of the lads had struggled, to even get in. He has no idea, how they’re supposed to be field agents, if they can’t get their asses into a goddamn truck to begin with. Then again, when he build the cell in Paris, it wasn’t really physical fitness he looked for, either. He needed people with sharp minds, with the ability to work under pressure and to conquer their fear.

“Selection starts at 0700 hours tomorrow morning. You have the rest of the evening off. Enjoy it,” Greer tells them and he and his female colleague leave their flock of recruits.

“Hey,” René murmurs and reaches out to touch her arm when Aurora lets out a shaky breath next to him. “You okay?” he asks her softly, lowering his voice.

He hasn’t really left her side, since the separate interviews. It may be to their disadvantage, if people think they are a pair, that they can’t be apart, but right now, he doesn’t particularly care, about that. He cares about knowing that she’s okay, that her interview went alright, that she’s doing as well as can be expected.

“Yes,” Aurora nods, answering his question. She forces a nervous smile and looks around briefly, her brows dipping. There was somewhat of an awkward moment, when the instructors had called their names earlier, to line them up for interviews, and Aurora’s last name was called. He saw some eyes widen in surprise, one of the blokes actually tensed up.

“I, asked them,” she starts, giving a slight shake of her head before she looks at him again. “Told them that I was more comfortable if they use the English pronunciation,” she shrugs.

“It doesn’t matter,” René tells her. Watches, as her features twist into a soft grimace.

“It does,” she protests. Lowers her voice more as she looks into his eyes. “It calls into question my motives, my loyalty. Honestly, this may be the one time where the Jewish thing helps me out,” she adds, a dark chuckle leaving her.

He draws a slow breath and reaches out, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the back of her hand.

It’s not like this is any news to him. But every time she reminds him of it, of being Jewish, it makes his heart clench painfully. Makes it gives this sort of fearful stutter.

His own interview went pretty well. Greer had asked, for his own assessment of his physical fitness, how many languages he speaks, what he’s been doing with the Resistance, that sort of stuff. Travel experience, any knowledge of engineering, chemistry, things like that. He knows how to use a radio in the broadest of terms, but he doesn’t really know morse code. He’s been trying to learn, but it’s a slow process, and they don’t always have access to a radio, in the Resistance. The cells that do are lucky, and they relay the messages they get to the rest.

It makes him wonder, how Aurora fared, during her own interview. He thinks she’s the only one, with German heritage. The only one with a blatantly German name, at least. Most of the recruits have English-sounding surnames. There are three Polish recruits, one of them the girl with the big eyes that reminds him so much of Pauline.

A clapping sound pulls him from his thoughts and René looks over to see the American from the train approach the billiards table. Watches, as he begins to line up the balls. It makes him give a shake of his head.

“Anyone up for a round?” the guy asks and he tunes him out. Takes Aurora’s hand and pulls her over to the armchairs around the fireplace, hoping they’ll be able to talk.

“I’m sorry.”

Or not, René thinks, after they’ve barely sat down, and he hasn’t even had the opportunity to open his mouth to say anything.

“Do you mind, if I...”

“Of course not,” Aurora shakes her head, a smile flittering across her face. He looks over and sees the girl sit down on what he took for a foot resting stool. Watches, as she smoothes down her skirt nervously, runs her hands over it repeatedly. She looks, nervous. And lost. Like a child far from home, who is beginning to realize she got into something she didn’t fully comprehend the magnitude off beforehand.

“I’m René,” he tells her and holds out his hand to her. She looks over shyly before she takes it.

“Katya,” she responds, big eyes moving to Aurora.

“Aurora,” she says, with a slight tilt of her head. “Where are you from?” she asks her gently, in an effort to make conversation. Maybe help to put her at ease. It used to work, with Pauline. If you got her talking about something she liked, she’d calm down, her mind focussing on the positive instead of whatever it was that scared her.

“Warsaw,” Katya tells her, her brows dipping. “My uncle, he saw, what Hitler did, to the Sudetenland. He thought it best not to stick around for another expansion East,” she mutters, her expression darkening. “Sorry,” she apologizes almost immediately. “I talk too much-”

“It’s fine,” René assures her. She has a nice voice, he thinks. One that doesn’t sound like Pauline at all. Especially with the accent. It’s clear and gentle and reminds him in a strange way of a lullabye. “Do you like Canada?” he asks her, forcing a smile.

“I don’t know," Katya tells him. “I... It is, very big,” she frowns. “I miss Poland,” she adds and casts her eyes down again, a pained expression crossing her face.

“I miss Paris,” Aurora sighs, causing Pau- Katya, to look up sharply. René finds himself watching her with surprise. He didn’t expect that sort of confession, especially not with a virtual stranger.

“You’re from Paris?” Katya asks, her big eyes sparkling.

“We, lived there, yes,” Aurora allows. "But we’re Canadian. French-Canadian,” she adds with a slight tilt of her head. She has a slight French accent, and so does he. He’s not entirely sure, if Katya would have been able to tell. Maybe to her, they sound the same as the others. Though he’d be interested to know, if she can pick out the American’s accent.

“I’ve always wanted to go. Is it as beautiful as they say?” Katya asks, turning her attention to Aurora.

“Yes,” she nods and he watches as her face comes alive as she recounts the beauty of the city, before the invasion and subsequent occupation by the Germans. She loves Paris, so much. Loves France, really, but Paris, it holds a special place in her heart. He’s not entirely sure what it is, about the city. But he’s felt that pull, himself. He enjoyed living there. Given the choice, between returning to Canada and safety, and staying in Paris and fighting, he’d chosen Paris. And that had only been in part because he’d already known her back then. Truth be told, he’s not entirely sure, if he didn’t stay because of Aurora. If the magical pull Paris has is actually not the city at all, but all of it Aurora’s doing.


	4. Ch. 4 - Aurora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised and edited the first two chapters of this over the weekend, and did some minor editing of the third one, as well. I'll try to not do that in the future, sorry, but especially the state of the first chapter bugged me.

Katya tosses and turns in her sleep. Aurora tries to tune her out as much as she can, but struggles to relax enough to fall asleep herself.

She’s used to sharing her bed, of sleeping curled up against René’s side. Katya’s breathing helps, a little. It makes her feel less alone, but still she finds it difficult to fall asleep. The past weeks have been, difficult. She hasn’t really had a full night of restful sleep since the raid on the café. And now, she finds it, difficult, to relax, being apart from René. She’s trusted him, with watching for danger as she slept, for so long that closing her eyes when she knows no one is taking watch, it’s, hard. It makes her anxious and worry, about what might happen. But they are no longer in France. They’re back, back in Canada. She’s save here, nothing is going to happen to her here.

It takes her hours, until she falls asleep. When she finally does, she dreams of René and kissing him. Dreams of Pauline laughing as Jojo twirls her around as a soft waltz plays in the background. Dreams of arguing with Maxime about something that no longer holds meaning. When she jerks awake with a gasp falling from her lips, she finds tears on her face, salty wetness covering her cheeks.

In the morning at breakfast, she finds that she’s not the only one who looks like they haven’t properly slept. It’s both reassuring and worrying at the same time. It makes her stand out less, that she’s not the only one who seems to have had a rough night. But at the same time, it worries her that a bunch of recruits considered to fight at the front lines of this war have trouble getting enough rest.

Breakfast is nice, though. There’s tea and coffee, and milk, and jam. She casts a look at René, and he grins at her as she loads up her bread with it. It’s not French marmalade, is a far cry from it, actually, but it is better than anything she had in weeks. She allows herself to sink her teeth into the bread and closes her eyes with a soft humm of appreciation, savoring the taste.

Everyone is wearing their new khaki uniforms. She feels, somewhat uncomfortable, wearing pants. She’s done it a few times before, but she vastly prefers skirts and dresses. It feels, restricting, to have something cover her legs. At least with a dress, she knew that if she kicked a Nazi in the balls, she didn’t have to worry about possibly ripping it with the movement. All she had to be concerned about was possibly exposing her underwear, and honestly, that had been the least of her concerns.

They are taken to a room that reminds her of a classroom, once they’ve all gotten some food into themselves. One of the Polish men was shoveling food in his mouth at an alarming rate. Aurora saw him do the same thing during dinner. He has a haggard look about him, his cheekbones stand out too prominently.

Aurora finds, to her surprise, that there are cards with their names on the tables. René sits two rows behind her, on the other end of the table that she occupies. Her seat makes her nervous. It’s on the side with the window, far away from the door. If she had free choice, she’d be sitting in the last seat in the back row. Closer to the exit, but far enough back so she’d be able to survey the room. It makes her wonder, what may have had their instructors assign them these seats. She has the suspicion that separating her from René was a conscious choice. They’d want to see their individual performance, would want them to cease relying on each other. She gets it, really. But it is jarring, to be among a room full of strangers and be forced away from the one person she really trusts, here.

“This,” Greer tells them, “is an exercise for fine motor control.” With that, he holds up a small table, assembled from a building kit meant for children.

“You will be asked to build one of three objects. You can choose between a table,” he explains, “a chair,” he adds, showing them that, “and a plane,” he finishes.

Aurora furrows her brows briefly, wondering how you’re supposed to manage that last one. She doesn’t really have trouble, figuring out what may be needed, for the table and the chair, but the plane throws her.

“You each have a kit in front of you with the elements required to build them. You have as much time as you need. Once you are finished with your object, you take it to the front, and leave the room quietly. Any questions?”

The young man sitting next to Aurora slowly raises his hand.

“Yes, Mister James?”

“Can we build more than one?” he asks. “Sir?” he adds after a beat, tagging it on as an afterthought. His questions makes a few of the other recruits snicker, and Aurora sees him blush furiously, though she finds herself intrigued. It’s a good question, she thinks.

“You will find that your kits do not have enough components to finish more than one object,” Greer answers him, something on his face that seems like an indulgent smile.

“Oh,” James sighs and ducks his head.

“Any other questions?” the soldier asks. When no one raises their hand, he nods. “Then everyone, begin.”

Aurora reaches out and lifts the lid from the kit on the table in front of her. Takes stock of everything in it, before she looks to the front desk, where the things Greer held up for them sit.

She’d like to do the plane. But she’s kind of bad, at building stuff like this, without instructions. She’s getting the sense that, while the construction of the object is important, they will note how long they take to assemble it, as well. She doesn’t want to waste precious time attempting to build something and end up having to scrap it in the end.

With a resigned sigh, she decides on the chair and gets out the parts she figures she’ll need for it. Wills her hands to be steady, to stop shaking with suppressed nerves.

She’s not entirely sure, but she thinks she’s the sixth or seventh to finish. The guy that sat next to her, the one who asked, about building two things, he’s actually right before her. And he managed to put the plane together. Aurora bites back her envy and hands in her object before she leaves the room, and then doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do, for a moment.

She decides to go exploring the house for a bit. The schedule they were given during breakfast means that she has almost half an hour left, before this class is supposed to be over.

She finds that the dining room has a pot of coffee and tea waiting, with some clean cups, as well. She hesitates, for a moment, before she takes one and fills it. Puts some sugar in it, and then decides to go look for the kitchens, to see if she’ll manage to procure a dash of milk, as well.

She does find the milk. And Cummings, as well, leaning against the doorjamb as he tries to chat up a maid. Aurora shakes her head at his antics and takes her tea to the common room, the one they sat down in last night.

* * *

“Hey.”

René’s fingers ghost over the inside of her wrist and Aurora feels her heartbeat quicken. They haven’t had a moment to themselves since they got on the train to this place. She, misses him. Even though he’s never really far from her, it feels like there’s suddenly a big wall between them, and she hates it.

“How was it, for you?” he asks, his voice low as he leans in, so they may talk in private, even in a room filled with other people.

“Alright, I guess,” she replies, furrowing her brows as she searches his face. “You?”

“Did the chair,” he shrugs. “I don’t know, I thought I’d be better at this, but it was pretty fiddly,” he frowns. Looks up and throws a glare in the direction of Cummings. Aurora rolls her eyes at him and reaches up to touch the side of his face for a moment.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she tells him, an amused lilt to her voice. René jerks and blinks at her, his eyes widening slightly.

“It’s not that,” he shakes his head. She gives him an expectant look, waiting. She’s pretty sure he knows she was kind of joking, about him not having anything to fear. He doesn’t, she has no interest in Cummings, or anyone else, for that matter. But René, he’s not usually the jealous type. Something about the guy is rubbing him the wrong way, and she’d like to know what it is, Aurora thinks.

“He, he treats this, like a joke. Like this is some fun vacation for him-”

“René, stop,” Aurora murmurs. “He’s an American. He doesn’t know what it’s like. He hasn’t seen what the Germans are doing. He doesn’t have the faintest idea, what living under German occupation means,” she shakes her head. Lowers her voice further. “I think I’m, the only one...” she breathes, her heart racing in her chest.

She doesn’t have an official confirmation, of course. But from the way she’s heard the others talk, even Katya and the two Polish men that are also in their group, they’re furious with the Germans. But none of them seem to be terrified in the way Aurora is, at her core. Don’t seem to fear for their lives, their future, the same way that she does.

“I’m sorry,” René murmurs. “Have you asked them? About observing Shabbat?” he asks, searching her face, the look in his eyes softening.

“No,” Aurora shakes her head. “Greer wanted to know, if I required anything specific, to observe my faith. I told him it was fine, that I’ve learned to make do...” she trails of.

It’s not like she’s the most religious person in the world. It is part of her identity, being Jewish. Being a half-German Jew. It’s a big part of why she chose to fight back, why she helped build a Resistance cell with René. But even amongst their friends, she’d kept that part of herself very guarded. René knows, because she trusts him. Because she needed him to promise her that he would never let her fall into German hands alive. That he would do everything to protect her, and if necessary, kill her. Telling him, about being Jewish, that had been the only way to really make him understand, what she was so afraid of.

But these people, they’re all strangers. She doesn’t know them. And it doesn’t strike her as a good idea, to bow out of an evening of chatter and a day of tests. They wouldn’t understand, and she wouldn’t blame them, either. If HaShem is real, then surely, He’ll understand why she won’t be able to observe Shabbat this time. When it comes down to it, Aurora thinks the potential of becoming an Allied Agent outweighs the judgment of failing to observe Shabbat by far.

It hadn’t occurred to her, before Greer’s question, that she’d be able to observe her faith again. Living in Paris, having to hide that part of herself so thoroughly, it’s caused a disconnect, within her. Maybe it’s the worst thing the Germans have done, so far, to her at least. That they have marred this part of herself with shame. Have caused her to be ashamed of it and to treat it like a dirty secret she cannot have anyone find out about. She reached a point where she didn’t care, about people knowing about her and René, despite them not being married, yet she never felt the same way about her religion. Something that should be treated with respect, something so beautiful and peaceful as her faith that should be celebrated, it has become a secret in need to being hidden from everyone else.

It makes her, sad, and furious, at the same time. Makes anger boil in her blood. Fury, at the Germans and their insidious tactics. And anger at herself, that she is still treating this as something she should be ashamed of, something dark and secret. Looking at the other recruits, she’s seen the odd crucifix, and patron saint medallion. Yet here she is, barred from carrying a small reminder of her own faith as freely as they do.

It makes her wonder, suddenly, if René would want her to convert, should they survive this war and decide to get married. Makes her realize with sudden clarity that it’s something she would never do. Living in Paris for as long as she did, while the city was under German occupation, she feels like she has spent more than enough time without her faith to last her the rest of her life. She wouldn’t ever willingly give it up, not for the love of one man. Despite of how much she feels for René, he is only one person. Being a Jew, that’s, that’s being part of something bigger. Being part of a vibrant community of so many different people from all walks of life.

“Here,” René murmurs and holds up something between them. Aurora blinks, clearing her thoughts, and looks down to find a tiny piece of wrapped chocolate in his palm. She stares down at it and he moves his hand, a soft chuckle leaving him. “Take it,” he encourages her.

“Where did you get this?” she asks him and carefully picks up the chocolate. Doesn’t know what to do with it. Part of her wants to save it, for later. For after dinner, when they can split it and savor the taste.

“My roomie has a very, overbearing mother,” René chuckles. “She gave him a handful. He saw us together and asked, if you like chocolate.”

“I’m so,” Aurora mutters and reaches up to brush a tear from the corner of her eyes. It’s such a small thing, but she hasn’t had real chocolate in so long, it feels like an eternity.

“Eat it,” René tells her as he casts a nervous look about. “Before the others notice and wonder where it came from. I don’t think Arthur would appreciate that very much,” he jokes and Aurora quickly undoes the small wrapper and breaks the chocolate in two, putting one piece into her mouth as she holds out the other to him. René sighs and rolls his eyes, but his mouth opens, and then his lips close around her fingers and Aurora feels herself blush.

“Remind me, to thank Arthur later,” she tells him before she closes her eyes and savors the feeling of the melting chocolate in her mouth.


	5. Ch. 5 - Harry

He’s gonna flunk this one.

Harry knows he’s always been bad at sheer memorization. If it’s something that holds his interest, he can do it, sure. If there’s a logical groundwork for it, he can use that and build on it, and be able to remember whatever it is that he’s supposed to.

But being asked to memorize the layout of a building floor, that’s beyond anything he’s had to do all his life. He was bad, at remembering dates in History class, and he quite frankly sucks at navigation when he can’t rely on a map and compass. How he’s supposed to get a floor plan into his head in so little time is absolutely beyond him.

He frowns down at the plan in front of him and tries to find some way of drilling it into his head in the ten minutes they’ve been given.

The blonde woman next to him closes her eyes and draws a slow breath. Harry looks over to see her lips move soundlessly as her index finger traces through the air as she tries to follow some imagined path.

He shakes his head and returns to his own work. Someone coughs behind him, someone else shuffles his feet. A chair’s legs scrape on the floor as the occupant pushes it back or forward a little.

His right-hand neighbor tenses as he hears the shouts, as well. Down the hall, voices arguing, someone yelling, the sound of running footsteps. On his left, the blonde woman freezes and her eyes fly open just as a shot rings out. The door to their room is thrown open, a soldier in uniform scrambling as he bolts into the room and slips on the floor and someone lets out a yell of surprise. One of the female recruits screams.

“Down!” Greer yelles and Harry scrambles to get beneath his desk. Feels, to his surprise, a small, soft hand on the base of his neck, holding him down.

He can see the soldier’s boots cross the room, the veranda doors are thrown open just as another two pairs of boots come rushing into the room, their owners yelling, in English and another language. There’s more gunfire, and his heart is in his throat as he clenches his eyes shut and tries to bite back a fearful whimper.

And then there’s quiet. The other pairs of boots follow the previous soldier out through the veranda, and uneasy, shocked silence fills the room.

“You can all come up again, now,” Lieutenant Lawrence’s voice calls out. The weight leaves his head and slowly, Harry pushes himself up to look over his desk. And finds their two instructors standing at the front of the room, at ease, Lawrence wearing an indulgent smile as Greer’s thick eyebrows are furrowed.

He moves back into his chair and shifts, embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he murmurs to the woman on his left. The one with the German name, he thinks. Leuft, or Loft, or something like that. She has some fancy first name, as well. When he first heard it during roll call, he’d done a double take.

“Are you okay?” she asks him, slight French accent lacing her words, and he nods mutely.

“Everyone, once you have taken a deep breath, please stop talking to each other, and turn over your sheets of paper,” Greer commands and Harry swallows, hard, realization dawning on him.

“Write down the answers to the following questions,” Lawrence continues as he grabs his pencil.

“How many shots were fired?”

He tenses and searches his memory. One, at first, and then more later. How many? Four, he thinks. Four, or perhaps five?

“How many men followed the first?”

Harry quickly writes ‘4 shots’ down, then gives a slight shake of his head, before he answers the second question.

“What color hair had the person last through the door?”

Shit. He doesn’t know that one. All he saw from those two were their boots, and part of the legs of their pants. He could guess. Probably should. What are the odds, what’s the most common hair color in the Canadian military?

“Whose jacket was undone?”

This time, he winces, at the realization of another question he doesn’t know the answer to. Writes ‘blonde’ for the previous one, and then does a sort of, eenie-meenie-miney-moo with this one, and settles on the second guy.

There are some more questions, though he can’t remember those, after, the sound of his blood still rushing in his ears. Greer slowly walks down their rows, collecting their papers, once the questions are over.

When he tries to stand, Harry finds his knees giving out on him, and he sits back down, hard.

“Are you alright?” the blonde woman inquires softly, her voice gentle as she touches his shoulder.

Aurora, he suddenly thinks as he looks up at her. Her name, is Aurora.

“Yeah,” he nods and gets up, managing to stay on his feet this time around. She gives him a soft smile, gives a gentle squeeze of his upper arm, before she moves past him, leaving him by himself.

* * *

“Your turn.”

He starts from his thoughts and gives a slight shake of his head before he looks down at the cards in his hand.

“Uh...” Harry mutters, picking up a card before trying to figure out what his best option is, here.

“Need help?” the guy on his right asks, accent coating his words. He slowly shakes his head.

“No, I, I got it,” he mutters and finally settles on a card to discard.

“Thank you,” the blonde on his left declares primly and picks it up promptly. She tilts her head at her hand, a small line appearing between her brows as she concentrates.

“Just, out of interest,” she begins, her French accent stronger by her attempt to hide her amusement. “Do I have to discard my last card, or can I use it for a meld?”

“Discard!” both the Polish man and woman declare simultaneously.

“Alright,” Aurora nods and Harry watches as she re-arranges some of the cards on her hand, before she puts them down in melds, placing the last one on the discard pile. “I believe this is called ‘Rummy’, yes?” she asks, her lips quirking into a grin.

“This is your fault,” Katya mutters and points at Harry, who ducks his head.

“Sorry,” he apologizes weakly, feeling rather stupid for his mistake. He did notice that the cards Aurora picked from the discard pile had all been club, but somehow, it hadn’t connected that she would be collecting them in order to win this round.

The man next to him mutters a Polish curse and tosses his cards onto the table in a small stack. “One more card!” he sighs with a shake of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora apologizes and takes the cards to shuffle and deal again.

She actually asked him, if he wanted to join them for their game. Apparently, the guy she hangs out with all the time doesn’t really like card games that much. He’s still sitting close by, just reading and looking up every once in a while.

He’s never really played Rummy before. Watched his mother and her friends play a couple of times, but it never held his attention. It’s a weird game, a mix of luck and strategy, and he’s not sure how he feels about it. So far, they’ve played three games, and he’s only managed to come out once. Aurora won two of those games, Katya the other.

They’re Pavel’s cards. He’d given them to Katya so she could play solitaire, and then they’d played some strange version of go-fish together, before Pavel had asked Aurora if she wanted to play something else with them, and then Aurora included him when her friend hadn’t been interested. He’s thankful for it, actually. After what happened earlier, he needed a distraction.

He feels a bit ashamed, of his reaction. He wasn’t the only one who went under the table, there were two others, but still. It’s just, he’s doing this to become an agent. There’s a chance that he’ll have to face situations like this, in the field, and ducking beneath a desk probably won’t be an option then.

Funnily enough, Aurora seems a bit shaken, as well. Not during the event, and not right after, either. But during dinner, she barely said anything and it seemed to him like she was more pushing her food around than actually eating any. And Harry didn’t miss, how her friend’s basically been glued to her side. Someone mentioned something about them having been in France. Of the two of them working in the Resistance, that that’s how they were recruited. If that’s true, then it makes sense, them being tense now.

“You want to go play?” Katya asks when Pavel looks over to the billiards table, where Cummings is holding court again.

“No,” the dark-haired man shakes his head and shifts on his chair, with a brief grimace. “Running was enough.”

“I thought I was the only one,” Harry breathes a relieved sigh. Their instructors sent them on a short-ish endurance run before dinner, leading them along the trail at the edge of the woods surrounding this place. He’d really struggled to keep up by the end of it, his legs burning, lungs struggling to draw breath.

“You are young,” Pavel tells him. “What is your excuse?” he asks, a shit-eating grin on his lips.

“What’s yours?” Harry throws back at him in irritation. Pavel is only a few years older than Katya and him, he really has no business acting like he’s an old man. It makes Katya freeze in sorting her cards. Pavel stares at him for a moment, before he blinks.

“What?” Harry mutters, feeling heat creep up his neck.

And suddenly, Pavel explodes into loud, rambunctious laughter and reaches over to clasp his shoulder and give it a good-natured shake that makes him wince in pain at the strength of his grip.

“You are funny guy,” he declares and messes up Harry’s hair.

“Hey!” he exclaims and tries to straighten it out again as Pavel puts his cards down and then he rolls up his pant leg and Harry feels his eyes bulging in his head as he sees discolored plastic.

“Shit," he murmurs and ducks his head, shame burning his cheeks as Pavel knocks his knuckles on his prosthetic.

“I, I had no idea...” Harry stammers, blushing furiously. “I’m so, sorry. I never would have said-”

“Is fine,” Pavel shrugs and pulls his pants back down to cover it.

“How did that happen?” Aurora inquires, her voice soft, brows drawn together in mild concern.

“Harvest,” Pavel says, his face darkening. “Other guy, was new. We use scythes. Was pretty bloody,” he adds with a hint of a grin. “Mother, she came running outside when she heard screaming. She faint.”

Katya shakes her head and hits his upper arm, saying something in Polish. It sounds like she’s, chastising him. Pavel arches an eyebrow at her and throws something back that makes her duck her head and blush a little.

“Anyways, was years ago. It hurt no more. Unless I run for long time,” he shrugs.

“That must have hurt a lot,” Harry mutters, feeling queasy as he imagines the scene.

“Wasn’t nice,” Pavel confirms, his brows dipping. “Now, we play cards? Rummy?”

Katya sighs and picks up a card before discarding another.

“Your turn,” she tells him and Pavel frowns at his own hand, drawing a chuckle from her.

He actually manages to come out this round. Pavel wins it, letting out a yell of triumph and sticking his tongue out at Aurora, who’s only holding onto one solitary card by the end. She shakes her head at him with a soft laugh and tosses it down, leaning over to take her friend’s hand for a moment and murmurs something to him. Harry watches as the guy’s lips quirk into a soft smile, before he gives a sigh and closes his book.

“Alright,” he says and scoots closer. “Deal me in,” he tells Pavel, who nods at him and counts out cards.

They play two more rounds, before he realizes how late it is getting. They have really early mornings, and he struggles to get out of bed as it is. So he tells them goodnight and goes up the stairs to the room he shares with Leonard, one of the bulky army recruits.


	6. Ch. 6 - Tom

He kind of likes the Morse code lessons. Finds them interesting, at least. Some of the other stuff, it's, boring, and kind of, out there.

He didn't agree to this because he thinks that he'll be the greatest spy ever. He just feels that his country is being awfully slow, about getting things started, themselves. He's voiced his opinion on that a couple of times. Which caused him to think that the guy approaching him at the diner he goes to, after work, was going to do something much worse to him, than recruit him as an agent.

Being in Canada, that's, weird. It feels like the States, but also not, at the same time. The people here are so, different. Nice, and welcoming, but not in the overbearing American way. They seem genuinely nice. At least some of them, that is.

He has the dark-haired guy, in his Morse code group. The one from the train, whose hackles went up immediately when he'd just dared to talk to the pretty blonde.

She is pretty. Has a pretty name, as well, to go along with her fantastic looks. Aurora. Who would've thought that anyone would name their kid that? Anyone middle-class, at least. She doesn't strike him as one of the rich kids, doesn't have that sense of entitlement and doesn't hesitate to get herself dirty.

So, Morse code, it's, good. It makes him relax a bit. He can just, close his eyes and concentrate. For a few moments, he doesn't have to be the tough guy, doesn't have to prove anything, to anyone. He knows that there are people who are so much better than him at this, and that's alright, because there are others who are a lot worse, as well.

The recording stops and he opens his eyes to write down the message. Or at least what he understood, from it. He missed a couple of letters here and there, but it's still enough that he can guess the words and the message still makes sense. He hopes.

"Alright, now for your answer," the instructor says and starts to read out the statement they're supposed to send. He writes it down in plain English, first. Still needs that step, to see the letters and be able to follow them along as he converts them into dots and dashes. The kid with the glasses is shifting in his seat again, already done with the task before most of them have even started on it, and Tom rolls his eyes at the little sideshow freak before he starts working on his message.

* * *

Heights aren't the greatest thing in the world. If Tom is honest, he kind of always hated them. They make his stomach roll uncomfortably, and when he looks down, it always feels like the ground is coming closer.

He swallows, hard, at the sight of the long ladders pinned against the tree. Follows them up to the rudimentary plattform, from where a rope is leading over to another tree, a guideline fastened a little higher.

Further up, at the top of the second ladder, is another such construction.

"At least they waited until today, to do this," one of the Poles jokes, his head tilted back as he examines the predicament.

"Yeah," Tom mutters and crosses his arms as he puts his steps a little further apart. Braces himself, against the forest floor. At least they didn't make them take this task after the gun thing yesterday. Probably because it would have resulted in the loss of half their recruits, judging by how pale some of the others have gotten.

It's a simple task, in words. Choose your height, go up, and traverse the rope to get to the other tree. It can't be that bad, surely.

Yet there's no net, no safety harness. All they've been given are a pair of gloves and an army helmet, which Tom thinks won't do much, given that they're talking about tens of feet of free fall, here, if they end up slipping. His best guess is that the lower rope is at around twenty-five, maybe thirty feet, the other is up way higher than that.

"Any volunteers?" Greer calls out, Lawrence standing by with the clipboard.

He bites back a hysterical laugh. Oh no. Not happening. If they think he's a wuss, screw it, he's not going to be the first one to do this crazy ass mission.

"Me."

His eyes widen at the sight of the slight Polish girl taking a step forward. Tom hears the guy next to him curse softly under his breath. At least he thinks it is a curse. He doesn't speak Polish. And he kind of, forgot her name. Something with a K, he thinks… Not Kate, or Katherine, he knows that much.

"Alright, Miss Wojcik," Greer nods. Motions for her to hold out her hands, and he checks the fit of her gloves, and then tightens the strap of her helmet. Tom swallows as he sees the army man squeeze the young woman's shoulder as he guides her over to the ladders.

"Take your time. This is not an exercise in speed," he reminds her. The tiny girl gives a mute nod and reaches out, hands on one of the rungs. Takes a slow breath and inclines her head, for a moment, before she looks up and starts climbing.

He watches as Wojcik hesitates briefly at the first rope, but then continues her ascent, making him swallow thickly. That has to be at least 50 feet above ground! Tom shakes his head, drawing a slow breath. Watches, as the small woman gets off the ladder and braces herself against the trunk of the tree, just taking a few deep breaths.

"What happens, if she falls?" one of the other recruits whispers.

"Let's hope she doesn't," Tom replies, his eyes glued to the form of their comrade as she steps onto the rope, holding onto the guide line for dear life. Slowly, she starts moving, balancing on the rope as she makes her way over to the other tree.

She's almost made it when she nearly loses her balance, and Tom feels his heart drop. Clenches his eyes shut, because he can't see her fall, can't watch her fall to her death.

But there's no scream that follows, no one yells out. No sound of someone hitting the ground from fifty plus feet up. So he risks looking again, and finds her still on the rope, straightened, a little closer to her destination.

Even when she steps onto the platform of the second tree, everyone still seems to be holding her breath. It's only when Wojcik has made it back to the ground safely, that they all breathe a sigh of relief. Some of them start clapping and Tom joins in as one of the woman's countrymen hugs her tightly. Lifts her up off the forest floor, tearing an indignant yell from her.

"Alright, alright," Lawrence calls, noting something on her seemingly ever-present clipboard. Waits, for the rest of the recruits to calm down, before she speaks again.

"Good job, Miss Wojcik."

"Thank you, Ma'am," the young girl smiles at her, having been sat down by the Polish dude.

"Now, who's next?"

* * *

The air outside is crisp. Tom shifts and crosses his arms. Considers going back inside, to get his sweater. But then he abandons the thought. He doesn't want to stay out long, just a few minutes, to, clear his head. Literally, because the guys have been smoking inside and it's starting to make his eyes water.

He's about to go back in when he catches sight of her. Down along the side of the porch, sitting on the stairs, with her head tilted back so she can look up at the darkening sky. See the stars, as they slowly appear for their nightly vigil.

Following an impulse, he walks over and sits down next to her. Saw her tense while he was still approaching, telling him she knew he was there even before he sat down. Well, maybe not him, specifically, but someone else, besides her.

"Dinner wasn't to your liking?" he asks her. When she turns her head to look at him, he gives a shrug. "You were more like, pushing it around, on your plate," he points out.

"Oh," she mutters and shifts. Crosses her arms tightly and worries at her lower lip. Her curls have been freed from the army twist she had them in earlier. Much like most of them, she hasn't changed out of her recruit khakis, though. It just, seemed silly, to do that, and then change again only a few hours later, for bed.

"I, do not particularly care, for pork," she says, her voice soft.

"Ah," he mutters as he feels her watch him closely. Isn't sure, how he's supposed to react. It's not like she's shared a big secret with him. And he's eaten the meat, so she probably knows he's not a vegetarian. If she paid any attention to the others, that is. At times, he thinks all she has eyes for, the only one she pays any attention to, is the guy that was with her on the train. Va-, Will-, Villiers, he's called. Or something like that. He's not that great, with French names.

"Can I, ask you something?" he says and watches as she inclines her head. Motions, for him to go ahead.

"Is it true? What the others are saying?" he asks. The blonde, Aurora, she frowns at him.

"What the others are saying…" she repeats. "What, exactly, would that be?" she asks him, confusing him, until he remembers, and feels his eyes widen.

"Oh, no, sorry," he shakes her head. "This isn't, about your name," he tells her. And sees her visibly relax. "No, it's… They say you and the guy from the train, that the two of you were in France. That you ran a Resistance cell, together."

To his surprise, she inclines her head, a smile tugging on her lips.

"Yes," she confirms. "I wouldn't say we, ran it, but I think all of us considered Rene our leader."

"Wow," Tom mutters and leans back. Braces himself on his palms behind him as he looks up at the stars, allowing the information to sink in.

He'd been sure that it was just some weird gossip. At the most, he'd figured that maybe they'd been losely affiliated with a cell. Maybe helped them a few times, and that's how they ended up being recruited. He never would have thought that those rumors were actually the truth.

"Must be pretty boring for you here, then," he comments, after a while.

"It's not," she shakes her head, much to his surprise.

"No?"

"No," Aurora insist. "We were never formally trained, before. Rene and I, we, stumbled into this. Like pretty much everyone in the Resistance," she shakes her head, before reaching up to rub a hand over her forehead. "We had help, from others, yes, but this? This is, a whole new level."

"Tell me about it," he snorts. Finds her looking at him, with curiosity. "What?"

"Nothing," Aurora shakes her head. Tilts it a little, her curls falling down her shoulders. She brushes them back and searches his face.

"I'm just wondering… What was it you did? Before coming here, I mean," she asks.

"Uh, believe it or not, I, worked in, advertising," he admits, feeling himself flush.

"Advertising," she repeats flatly.

"Yeah," he nods. "You know, those posters that are supposed to get you to a club, stuff like that."

"Huh," she hums. "I can see that," she suddenly declares with a decisive nod.

"Excuse me?" Tom finds himself laughing uncomfortably.

"The way you act, how you carry yourself…" she says, searching him with her big eyes. "You care a lot, about what people think of you. You want to, fit in. Be friends, or at least, liked well enough, by everyone. That's why you flirt with every woman, why you compliment us. Why you ask the guys to play billiards with you, even though you're lousy at it. Unless that's an act, too, and you're much better but loose on purpose," she shrugs.

"Damn," he breathes, thoroughly devastated by her observations and how accurate they are. "Now I get why they recruited you."

It makes her blush, actually. Makes Aurora duck her head and look out at the woods surrounding the house.

"For the record, I really am that bad," he says, after a few moments. At her confused expression, he gives a slight shrug. "Billiards, I really am that bad at it."

"Ah," Aurora nods, before returning her attention to the woods again.

"You and your, friend, you didn't have a fight, did you?" he asks her. Maybe not his smartest move, but, they've been out here for some time, and the guy hasn't poked his head out once. Hasn't checked on her, as far as Tom can tell.

"No," she shakes her head, voice clipped. "I, wanted to be alone. That's why I came out here."

"Oh," he mutters. Hesitates, for a moment, swallowing thickly. "Do you still…"

"Yes, actually, if you don't mind," she confirms, not looking at him.

"Right," he nods, slowly standing. Looks down at her, at her slightly slumped over posture, at her crossed arms. "Well, uh, see you later, Aurora," he finally says. Hears her hum softly in reply, not saying anything, and then is forced to turn and leave her to her own thoughts.

But just because he does return inside and joins the others for a last game of billiards, doesn't mean she's not still on his mind. There was something in her eyes, something, soft, something vulnerable, that seems to haunt him. Keeps him drifting back, going back over their entire conversation, about what she said to him.


	7. Ch. 7 - Aurora

Arndt lets out a bark of laughter and throws his head back. Reaches over to hit René on the shoulder and shakes him. The dark-haired man splutters and nearly spills his whiskey, coughing at the rough treatment he’s getting from the Dane. Astrid leans over and says something to Arndt, who lets go of René. Stands and sweeps the redhead into his arms, dipping her before he kisses her deeply. René looks away and his eyes meet Aurora’s, for a moment, before he turns away and fills his glass again, downing its contents in one go.

Aurora feels her brows dip into a disapproving frown before she shakes her head and looks away. She's not going to comment. René made it perfectly clear that he did not want to know her opinion any longer. So what if the Danes are getting him shit-faced when they have an early morning, tomorrow? It's not like she cares, anymore.

But she does. That is the problem, isn't it?

She puts down her book and mutters an excuse before leaving the common room. Makes her way down the halls and corridors, her pace quickening until she's practically running and the bursts through the doors, her lungs aching and her eyes brimming with tears. Stands outside in the cool evening air, her khaki uniform disheveled beyond compare.

She hadn't meant to hurt him. When they’d been given the task to write down the names of the agents they would take into enemy territory with them, and those they would not take along, it hadn’t been an easy decision to put down René’s name, at all. But in the end, she’d figured she better admit that the two of them, together in the field, that was bound to get extraordinarily messy, and fast at that.

She hadn't thought that they would make them read their answers out loud. All she had intended to do, was to have their superiors know that she's not objective, when René is concerned.

But he wouldn't even let her explain. He'd just, cut her off. Just like that, from one moment to the next. Had shrugged her hand off, had told her to go away, had hissed in her face to leave him alone.

And she understands, understands that he is hurt and angry, but goddammit, it doesn't have to be like this, if he would just listen to her-

She reaches up and buries her hands in her hair. Tugs on it sharply as she crouches down, trying hard not to burst into tears. It won’t look good, if she does. She knows that she’s on thin ice as it is, with their superiors. She really does not need another strike against herself.

Plus, she's done enough crying about this, really. There hasn't been a night since they came to Camp X four days ago that she has not spent with her face twisted into her pillow, her hands clutching at the thing as her shoulders have been shaking.

She's pretty sure that Katya is going to strangle her, one of these days. She knows she's been loud and messy, has been keeping the Polish girl awake with her crying at night. But she can't help herself. Every day, she wants to just, clear the air, between René and her. Wants to explain herself to him, wants to make him understand, why she said that she would not take him on a mission into enemy territory. And every day, he gives her this icy glare and tells her to just leave him alone, hasn't she done enough?

She loves him. By God, does she love him. He's, everything, to her. And knowing that he hates her so much, it's slowly killing her. One of these days, she will end up making a mistake that will either cost her a limb, or get her kicked out of the Camp. That she even made it here, that seems like a small miracle, but she's ready to give all of that up, if it will only give her one moment of René's undivided, unprejudiced attention.

Yet she already knows she won't be getting that. Not anytime soon. The chance of Germany surrendering, of stopping this madness, this war, that's a hundred times bigger than René spending one moment alone with her. And she really has no one else to blame but herself here.

* * *

“Take your time.”

Aurora draws a slow breath and gives a mute nod. Her hands are shaking. She can feel her heart racing in her chest, her entire being recoiling at the idea of this thing in her hand.

Still, she shifts her hold on the gun. Breathes, again, as she closes her eyes for a second, before opening them again.

She moves her legs a little further apart, so she has a secure stand. Tilts her hand and pulls back the sled on the gun. Cocks it, then lifts it slowly.

“Finger off the trigger,” the instructor reminds her and for a second, her heart threatens to escape thought her throat as she thinks she already had her index finger off the trigger. But she doesn’t, it was really just a reminder.

“Steady hold.”

She nods and steadies her right hand with her left. Aims at the target pinned to a large ball of hay.

She hasn’t failed to notice that, thus far, the five targets they have put up around them are very far from human-shaped. She wonders, if that is an intentional thing. To make it easier, on their new recruits, to pull the trigger. It’s easier to aim at a target when it doesn’t look like a person.

“Breathe in, breathe out, hold your breath, fire twice,” the instructor’s voice tells her. Aurora takes a slow breath and lets it out, before taking another, and another. It’s only on the third that she actually manages to pull the trigger, and then she only manages to do it once.

The shot rings in her hears, and her shoulder aches from the recoil of the gun. She lets out a shocked gasp and feels the instructor’s hands on her wrists, pulling her hands up and directing them to point away from them.

“Okay, take a moment.”

She nods mutely and takes a staggering step aside. Feels Harry touch her back and she shakes him off as she takes a few steps away from the rest of the group currently receiving their first round of firearms training.

Aurora walks over to the edge of the woods and leans over, bracing her hands on her knees, waiting for her heart to slow down, or for her stomach to rid itself of its contents, she isn’t sure.

She’s held a gun before. Once, and only for a moment. Maxime and her had gone to visit a group of, whatever. They had a small printing press and were using it to put out hundreds of flyers they wanted to hand out at the university and drop from the roof. Pauline had told them about it, and Maxime and her had gone to dissuade them from this foolish plan. They were only a group of six students. Besides probably not knowing how much trouble they would get into, when they got caught (and there’d been no doubt in Aurora’s mind that these idiots were going to get themselves caught, with how sloppy they were going about the whole thing), there was a risk involved for their cell. Pauline knew two of them, one a mere acquaintance, but the other she’d gone to school with, was still in contact with. There was a chance that, once these idiots were in their custody, the Gestapo would come knocking on Pauline’s door, and that could take down every single one of the members of their cell.

Anyways, the gun. She had wandered around the apartment as Maxime tried to convince the boys to drop their plan, or at least postpone the date, until one of their operations was over, and they were in the clear. She’d found it when opening a drawer to look for a pen, it had just sat there, ready for anyone to find. She’d taken it and slammed it onto the table, her heart racing back then, as well.

Maxime and her had left shortly after, Maxime pocketing the gun. To keep the boys from doing something even more stupid. Aurora isn’t sure what happened to it. When she asked René about it later, he said he told Maxime to get rid of it. None of them could be caught with a gun on their bodies, they couldn’t afford risks like that.

And now here she is, learning how to use a gun, how to shoot. How to kill.

She thought it would be easier. That she didn’t have this instinct to not do anyone any harm. Was pretty sure that when it came to their enemies, she did mean them a load of harm, actually. They are talking about Germans here, after all.

But she’d half-German herself. Half her family is German. Her Oma and Opa, and Lotte, and her papa. Though Aurora isn’t sure if it’s the whole nationality thing that makes her hesitate. The Nazis have made it more than clear that people like her, like her family, they are no longer considered Germans. Aren’t even citizens of a second, of a lower class. No, instead, they are treating her and her people like vermin.

Aurora draws a slow breath and straightens.

“Here,” Tom murmurs and holds out his canteen to her. She looks at him sharply, not having noticed his approach. He looks, rough. There are circles under his eyes, he’s gone a bit pale around his nose, too.

She swallows and takes the metal jug. Takes a gulp of water, and another, before wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her uniform shirt. Hands him back his canteen, and Tom takes a sip himself, his brows drawing together as he looks over to the target stand, where Harry is currently being instructed. It makes Aurora wonder, if they put them together on purpose. If their instructors knew that for all of them, this would be a struggle. Holding a weapon and following through with pulling the trigger. Or maybe it is a coincidence, just the sheer luck of the draw, that in their group of six, none of them is finding this easy.

To be honest, Aurora thinks that that calms her more than anything. She feels like, the Nazis, they probably find this part very easy. After all, they don’t seem to see their targets as people. Just saboteurs and filthy Jews that don’t have any right to live, anyway.

Maybe hesitating is a good thing. Maybe it is a sign that she is on the right side of this war, after all.

Maybe the time to be afraid for her soul will be when she finds this part easy.

* * *

Stabbing pain shoots up from her wrist and Aurora gasps as she falls to her knees, trying not to cry out.

“Sorry.”

At least the guy has the decency to apologize. His hold releases and she glowers up at him, and finds his hand right there, out to help her to her feet again. Aurora frowns, but takes it. Allows him to help her to her feet.

“You alright?” he asks, and she finds herself giving a mute nod.

“Now you try on me,” he nods, taking his position opposite her. Aurora hesitates, eyes skirting over his face, his broad shoulders, the bulging muscles of his upper arms.

“What?” he asks when she does not take her stance.

“I’m sorry, but…” she trails off, gesturing vaguely. “Do you really expect me to believe that I’ll do any damage, to you?”

The Brit frowns and lowers his arms. “Look,” he starts and rubs a hand over his face. “This isn’t, isn’t fighting fair, yeah?” he says and Aurora finds herself agreeing wholeheartedly. The guy has like, thirty pounds of pure muscle on her. He’ll have her bend over like a pretzel before she can even think to do any damage to him.

Somehow, she hadn’t expected her first solo hand-to-hand combat training session to go this way. Besides having expected a female instructor to be at least present, she also hadn’t thought that the guy supposed to be teaching her would be wearing a recruit’s uniform, himself. Nor had she been anticipating a rather obvious British accent.

“But that’s the point,” the guy points out. “You’re likely not going to go up some scrawny kid from the school yard. If you get in a position where you will have to defend yourself, assume that your opponents will have military training. That they will know hand-to-hand.”

Aurora frowns and reaches up to brush a curl of hair that has escaped her braid out of her face.

“But there are ways, for someone who doesn’t have the advantage of brute strength, to turn that around on their opponent. You’re thinner, so you’re a smaller target. You don’t have to lug around as much mass, which makes you faster. And just for the record, sheer panic? That’s a hell of a force, too,” he shrugs.

Aurora swallows and looks away. Draws a deep breath and tries not to think of the Nazi soldiers in their uniforms. Of their guns and knifes, and the way they are overly liberal with aiming their pistols at people’s heads.

“Okay,” she murmurs and shifts. “How do I take someone like you down?” she asks with an arch of her eyebrow.

Watches, as the Brit’s lips curl into a smile, and his eyes sparkle with excitement.

“That’s what you’re going to figure out,” he tells her and goes to grab her throat. He’s fast and she barely manages to knock his hand away as she takes a staggering step back. Watches, as he inclines his head.

“Not bad,” he acknowledges. “Again,” he says and this time, she has a split second of warning before his hand shoots out again. She manages to wrap her fingers around his wrist, but is so surprised by that success that she freezes and then he shoulder-checks her and she lands in an indignant heap on the mat of the sparring room.

He steps up and looms over her as she tries to catch her breath, the impact of her back with the floor having knocked the wind out of her.

“Again?” he asks and offers her his hand. Aurora closes her eyes for a second. Feels her right wrist throb dully from his earlier grip. Feels her left shoulder pulse from the impact of his body, her shoulder blades singing from hitting the floor. She will be all battered and bruised and in pain, come tomorrow.

But better bruised and aching for a few days, than unable to defend herself. Better bruised than dead.

She opens her eyes again and takes his hand. He hauls her to her feet easily and she finds her feet leave the floor for an instant. Marvels, at the strength behind his bulky frame, before she shakes her head.

“Show me again,” she demands. “Slowly,” she adds at the way his brows dip. The Brit hesitates, before he inclines his head.

“Okay,” he says and reaches out, almost in slow motion, and starts to instruct her on where, exactly, she is supposed to place her hand. How much force she has to use, on him right now in order not to do any damage, and then later on, in the field, to incapacitate her future opponents. It takes her three tries, before she actually has him on the mat, has him on his knees and she can see a flicker of pain cross his face, and Aurora almost lets out a cry of triumph.

“Okay, okay,” the guy mutters as he gets to his feet again, circling his wrist with his other hand for a moment, rubbing at the receding pain.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. She hadn’t meant to actually hurt him, but she is just a little proud of herself for managing to do so.

“It’s fine,” he waves her off. “How’re the pants fitting?” he asks her, eyes trailing down her legs, and Aurora suddenly feels self-conscious at the question, before indignation rises, hot and fast, to take its place.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, sorry,” the Brit mutters, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was just wondering, about your range of motion. We could try kicks, but if they’re on the snug side, it would be better to postpone that. No reason in tearing perfectly good pants when next time, you can just wear a skirt.”

“Oh,” she mutters. Feels herself blushing a little and quickly shakes her head to get rid of her flush.

“Show me,” she tells him, and watches him incline his head.

“Just, for the record,” he says as he widens his stance. “Since I’m about to grab your ankle. My name is Neil.”

“I’d say it’s my pleasure, but-”

“Yeah,” he chuckles before tapping his shoulder. “Eyes on your target,” he tells her and Aurora nods. Shifts her stance onto her left leg before going to kick him with her right, and letting out a yelp of surprise when she goes flying right onto the floor.

He’s laughing, this time. Isn’t apologizing, isn’t offering her a hand to help her up. Instead, he’s folded over, holding his stomach as he laughs.

Aurora slowly rises to all fours, her entire left side smarting from where she hit the mat, hard. She shakes her head and gets up, rubbing her hip.

In his defense, he hadn’t even done anything. Not that Aurora noticed. She’s merely lost her balance, unaccustomed to having to hold her balance on one foot while her body is moving like this.

“We’re gonna work on that,” Neil says with a shake of his head, flashing her a wolfish grin, and Aurora rolls her eyes.

“I mean, if you can use it to your advantage, by all means, fall over in front of the Bosch. Maybe it’ll stun them for a second,” he shrugs. “But just in case it doesn’t work, you better have a back-up plan.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she shakes her head. Worries at her lower lip, embarrassed and self-conscious.

“Okay, again. I’ll catch you, this time,” he says. “Promise!” he adds at Aurora’s skeptic expression.

“If you don’t, I get a free hit,” she demands. Watches, as he hesitates, something moving behind his eyes, but then he’s grinning again.

“Alright, you’re on, Miss Luft,” he nods and as she moves to kick him again, she wonders if she’s actually hoping that she’ll lose her balance again, just so she can get a fair attempt at wiping the smug grin off his face.


	8. Ch. 8 - Harry

“Ninety seconds.”

He swallows thickly and carefully lifts the lid of the bomb. Blinks at the mess of cables in front of him.

“What the-” Harry starts and closes his eyes. Of course. If you’re making a bomb for yourself, to test it, you’re gonna limit yourself to the necessary parts. But if you want to make sure no one can disarm it in time, you’re gonna try to confuse the hell out of anyone who might try.

He opens his eyes again and starts trying to follow one cable, then another, but they’re all hopelessly tangled, and what is more, there’s at least three of each color. Who the hell designed this?

“Sixty seconds,” the redhead reminds them, making a note on her clipboard. Harry casts a glance at the guy to his right, who’s tugging on his messy hair, mumbling to himself as he rocks back and forth, trying to figure out his bomb.

The third one is only now lifting the lid off the device. Harry shakes his head and returns to the task at hand.

Okay. He can do this. He’s done it before. Focus, Harry. If this were you, how would you design this? How would you keep track of which cable goes where?

He frowns then shakes his head sharply, and idea hitting him. He grabs the device and turns it upside down, looking for anything, anything at all-

“Ha!”

“Twenty seconds,” the woman in the uniform calls out as he plops the bomb back down. Grabs his knife and one of the cables, saying a quick prayer in his head, and then slices through the copper wiring housed in the yellow plastic. And, nothing. Nothing happens. He exhales loudly and feels his mouth tug into a grin as he looks up at the redhead, just as she calls the time, and the little flour bags on the other two devices go off, making Richard recoil and splutter. He’d just bend down for a better look at the contacts and got a face full of old flour.

“Gentlemen, you are dead,” Krystina declares. “All of you,” she says pointedly as she walks over to Harry. “What happens, when you turn an unknown explosive device upside down, Harry?” she asks him and he feels his eyes widen.

“Oh,” he murmurs, a blush creeping up from his neck, making its way to the roots of his hair.

“Yes, oh,” the redhead shakes her head. “Bonus for thinking of it, though,” she adds under her breath as she marks something on her clipboard.

“Alright, break for fifteen. Get some air, have something to drink, use the head,” she dismisses them and Harry feels his shoulders slump. He watches Richard and the other guy slink from the room, their places a mess. Not that his looks that much better, there’s tools basically everywhere.

“Harry,” Krystina warns as he fails to leave and instead busies himself with putting away his tools.

“I just, wanna help, clean up,” he tells her, a fresh blush spreading across his cheeks. He hopes she doesn’t notice, hopes that she’ll just think it’s because his failure weighs on his mind and he’s embarrassed about that.

He is. It was a stupid mistake, he should have been more careful. Should have thought of that, before he turned the device upside down. He wants to think that, if this had been real, then he surely wouldn’t have done it. But the truth is, he isn’t so sure. He gets, too excited, sometimes. When he has an idea, his mind just starts racing, like, like a steam engine. Like a train that’s lost its conductor. Once it reaches a certain speed, there is no stopping it. Harry know, because he has tried. By God, had he tried, but most of the time, he doesn’t even notice that his thoughts are getting away from him.

At least they don’t look at him like he’s some kind of freak. Sinclair stuck him in this shed and gave him free reign over cables and gadgets and told him that whatever his mind came up with, he wanted detailed sketches and explanations. That had been the only stipulation, the only condition for him getting to use all of their supplies. Within certain limits, of course. They don’t allow the recruits to play around with the actual explosives and if they need chemicals, they have to request them and fill out a dozen forms and detail what they plan on doing with them.

But they’re letting him do a lot more than he’s been allowed to, before. Like, half of this stuff, he wouldn’t have been able to legally get his hands on, before coming here. And now it is sitting just within arm’s reach, all he has to do is say he needs it and they’ll give it to him. It’s amazing. Kind of dizzying.

“Alright,” Krystina sighs and puts down her clipboard, her writing facing down. Grabs the boxes, one for cables, one for screws, one for big metal parts, and Harry starts sorting out the mess on his table, before he moves to Richard’s.

“Can I, ask you something?”

“Huh?” he mutters, looking up from where he’s putting the guy’s tools back into their places in their leather wrappings. “Sorry, I was…” he trails off. And sees her red lips curl into an indulgent smile.

“You, share a barrack, with Tom Cummings, right?” she asks, picking up a model and setting it down on the table in front of the room. It’s still covered with a dirty tablecloth, but Harry already knows the task that’s waiting for them. Look, observe, then recreate as close to model as possible without having the schematics. Not exactly the activity he likes most, but it sure beats drawing schematics from convoluted instructions.

“Yeah,” he confirms, his brows dipping. “Why?”

“I was just wondering,” she starts, dusting off her hands. There’s, something, in the set of her mouth, something in the way she holds her shoulders. How she’s not looking at him, but keeps him well in her sight.

“How is he? As a person, I mean,” she clarifies when Harry’s frown deepens.

He gives a small shrug and leaves Richard’s table, setting out to straighten the last one.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “We, don’t talk that much,” he frowns.

Truth be told, he stayed away from Cummings during the SAB. He’s got this, particular brand of cocky, that certain attitude, that Harry has seen countless of times before. First in school, then in college. People like Tom Cummings only have one use for people like Harry James: as the punchline for their jokes. Or for their literal punches. It wouldn’t have been the first time one of those guys punched him, really. It happened quite a lot, in school. Especially before he agreed to do half the hockey team’s homework. After that, things got, if not comfortable, then at least marginally easier. He hadn’t had to fear broken ribs anymore, at least. And they never tried to put him into one of those giant metal dumpsters again, either.

But since the third day at Camp X, Cummings has been his roommate. And he’s… not as bad as Harry had thought he would be. He’s actually pretty great. Best roommate he ever had, really. Aside from those two weeks his brother was gone and Harry had their room to himself, but he feels like that doesn’t really count.

He even let Harry keep his cot. He’s got the better one, the one that doesn’t creak as much, and the one the sun doesn’t heat up all day, so it feels like you’re getting into an oven when you climb beneath the blankets.

And so far, he hasn’t pulled an asshole prank on him. Hasn’t dumped his water on him, or scared him awake in the middle of the night. And the other day, Cummings actually let him have some of his aftershave. They were doing dress-up, trying to slip into different roles. His had been supposed to be the kid of some important guy, major of some town, lots of money and power behind him. He’d, struggled, to say the least. The suit had been just a little too tight, his shoes had been too big, and he’d been uncomfortable as hell, with people’s eyes on him. And Tom had given him pointers. Told him how to loosen his shoulders, and how to tilt his head, and when Harry had still struggled, he’d suggested the eau de cologne. Because sometimes, it’s about the subtle things, the little, tiny details, that help you slip into a role.

“He’s, kind of nice,” he hears himself say.

“Really?”

She sounds, doubtful. Harry looks over to see Krystina frown, with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I know, he doesn’t sound like it,” Harry shrugs. Shifts on his feet and takes a few steps towards her. “But he’s, never been mean, to me,” he adds, his voice low. She looks at him then. Searches his face and he looks down at the floor. Frowns, at an oil stain on the wooden floorboards. Wonders how that got there. If someone tripped and spilled it, or if it’s left over from an experiment gone wrong. Or perhaps right.

“Go get some air, Harry,” Krystina tells him and he feels her fingers brush against his upper arm as she steps around him, to inspect their work stations and make sure everything is in order. Harry frowns and opens his mouth, but he manages to bite back the question.

It’s not his place, to ask her, why she’s suddenly interested in Cummings. For all he knows, it may simply be because he’s an American, and they’re a Canadian camp. But as he leaves the room, he can’t help but think that that, isn’t it. At least not all of it.

* * *

His hands are actually shaking with nerves. Harry swallows and picks up the headset. Puts it on, the sides pinching his face. He can do this. He knows how radios work, he has sent so many messages and received them, that he has lost count. He can do this. He won’t be sick from nerves, his team needs him, he won’t screw this up, for them.

“So we’re just supposed to sit here?” Cummings asks. Harry looks over just in time to see Aurora shrug.

“Yes,” the Brit confirms. “That was the briefing, wasn’t it? Get to the apartment, wait for further instructions,” he reminds them. Shakes his head at them.

Harry hears Aurora let out a slow breath and she walks over to the window. Keeps to the wall and only pulls back the curtain a tiny bit, so she can look outside, see the street below and check it.

Tom lets out a huff and flops down in the free chair, before standing again, his face contorted in pain. He pulls out the gun from the back of his pants and puts it on the table before he sits again.

The sight of it, it makes him nervous. Harry’s, bad, around them. He knows how to use them, of course. But his aim is pretty bad, still, and they’re so loud, and the smell, it never seems like he can actually get it off of him, get it off his hands.

He shakes his head and listens to the static coming from the radio. Checks, again, that he is tuned in to the right frequency.

He’s pretty sure that he was a, last minute addition to this, endeavor. Is pretty sure that one of the designated radio operators from the Danish and Norwegian team had been supposed to go along, but then the Danes suddenly disappeared, over night, and the Norwegians decided to get absolutely smashed the night before. Sinclair’s angry yelling had been loud enough to echo down the whole building. When they’d left, the Scandinavians had been doing drills in the rain, looking utterly miserable.

The Brit, Neil, he’s their designated team leader, for this. Probably because he has the most experience, out of all of them. Besides Aurora, that is. Actually, coming to think of it, Harry isn’t sure, if Aurora couldn’t be considered more experienced, but then again, what she did in France, that hadn’t been at the order of the government she now works for. They all work for. By their book, Aurora is as much a new recruit as Tom and Harry are, though he holds no illusion that, when it really comes down to it, Harry is the one at the bottom of the food chain and considered the weakest link by probably all of them. It, sucks, but honestly, he can’t really argue with any of their assessments, can he? He’s jumpy, a bad shot, his German is pretty much nonexistent, and really, his only valuable skill is that of being a radio operator.

Harry bites back a sigh of defeat, and fiddles briefly with the radio, just checking that, while he spaced out for a moment, nothing changed and things are still working fine.

“Uh, was there anything in the briefing, about police cooperation?” Aurora suddenly asks and Harry feels his heart jump to his throat as Tom shoots up from his chair and both him and Neil make for the other window.

Please don’t let it be a locating van. Please, anything but a locating van.

“What’s happening?” he asks, having risen himself, but he can’t make out anything, and he doesn’t want to take off the headphones and step away from the radio, out of fear of missing something important.

“There’s officers, down the street. It looks like they’re, going house to house?” Tom says and steps away, his hands going up into his hair.

“Okay, okay,” Aurora mutters, withdrawing from her spot as well. She paces the room, one hand at her mouth as she bites down on her thumb, the other at her hip.

“We need a plan,” Neil declares and Harry rolls his eyes.

“No kidding,” he mutters. Looks at the radio, willing it to work, to tell them, what they’re supposed to do. Wills whoever is manning communications at the camp to contact them, right now, and lay out a plan of action, for them.

“Can we, contact the camp?” he asks, frowning. Hears three pairs of feet swivel as the rest of his team turns to look at him. He casts a glance at them before giving a shrug. “What?” he asks. “I know we’re supposed to wait for instructions, but they haven’t actually said we’re not to respond, or contact them, right?”

Harry frowns as he mentally goes over the briefing again and tries to remember if there were any specific instructions regarding that. If they said that they weren’t to reach out to the camp, if they were to stay silent after the initial contact.

“Right,” Neil nods. “Okay, so, message them. Tell them we got police officers coming, we need to know, if they’re on our side, or not. And what are our instructions?”

He sits down and starts quickly tapping out the message as Neil grabs the pencil and the block he always keeps by the radio, and puts down their tag, in case Harry didn’t know, or forgot. He hasn’t, it’s been burned into his mind, the three letter combination for their team, for this mission. Has kept it at the front of his mind since he read it in the briefing. He knows, how important that is, for the Camp to know who they’re talking to, who’s contacting them and asking for help.

When he’s finished, he leans back in his chair, hand up against the speaker over his ear as he listens intently. Tom is back at the window, looking down, fidgeting, and Aurora is pacing while Neil stands there, his arms crossed tightly as he waits and thinks.

“What are you doing?” he asks when Aurora’s pacing starts to encompass more of the room.

“Looking around,” she answers, running her fingers over the record player. “If they’re not on our side we need to come up with something,” she says, frowning. “A reason, why three guys and one woman are in an apartment by themselves, with a damn radio just sitting there in the open,” she points out to him, gesturing towards Harry

“Okay, yeah,” the Brit nods. “Uh…” Neil frowns, looking around himself. “Check, check your papers,” he says and gets out his fake ID. “Birthday month?” he inquires as the rest of them do the same.

“December,” Tom declares.

“June,” Aurora chimes in.

“June, too,” Harry says, looking at his own ID.

“Okay, no birthday party,” Neil shakes his head. Looks at Aurora and tilts his head at her.

“What?” she asks, her brows dipping as she takes a step backwards, clearly not liking whatever it is he might come up with, when Neil looks at her like that.

“You’re my new fiancee,” he says as gets out a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. Grabs four glasses and pours some into each, before slapping a bit of it onto his throat. He holds the bottle out for Tom, motioning with it, and the blond man takes it with a small shrug, following his example.

“Non,” Aurora shakes her head when Tom holds the bottle to her. He sets it down.

“So, we just got engaged, yeah? And we’re celebrating, with our friends,” Neil says. Aurora shifts, looking uncomfortable as she crosses her arms, but she finally gives a curt nod, agreeing to the cover. Harry’s heart is racing in his chest as he watches them trying to figure this out.

“Okay,” Tom nods, walking over to the record player and quickly browsing the selection, before he picks on and starts to put it on.

“Hey, no,” Harry quickly calls out. “You put that on, I won’t be able to hear,” he tells the taller man. Who pauses, looking to Neil for guidance.

“We have to hide the radio, anyway,” Aurora shakes her head. Hurries over to him and helps him take it down, Harry muttering soft protests the whole time. They need to be reachable, need to have an open line, with the camp. They can’t just, take the radio, and-

“A hatbox?” he frowns when Neil hurries over with a round box.

“You wanna get picky, now?” he asks and puts the radio inside, before closing the thing. Wraps a big ribbon around it. “They ask, it’s your present,” he tells Aurora, who grimaces, but doesn’t protest. Maybe because Tom takes that moment to put the music on, and all of them flinch at the volume of the jazz record that’s torturing their ears, before Tom turns it down just a little. It’s still louder than Harry would like, still loud enough that the neighbors will probably hear. Which might actually be what the Yank intended with it. Make their presence so obvious that no one would consider that they’re actually meant to not be here.

“We don’t have rings,” Aurora says suddenly and Neil pauses before shrugging as Harry’s heart drops.

“It’s war,” he points out. “We’re, saving up. I’m saving up, to afford one,” he amends. “But I couldn’t wait to ask. Had to, stake my claim,” he tilts his head, searching Aurora’s face.

At that, Cummings lets out a snort.

“What?” the Brit asks, glowering at the taller American, who shakes his head

“Don’t let Villiers hear that,” Tom mutters under his breath as he shakes his head. It makes Harry shift uncomfortably, and he sees Aurora cross her arms tightly over her chest as she looks away, her jaw working. Neil reaches out for her and she takes a step away, giving a sharp shake of her head as moisture brims in her eyes.

Harry opens his mouth, to break the tension, but the doorbell rings at the same time someone hammers on the door and the four of them jump. They exchange panicked looks and then Neil draws a deep breath and makes for the door while Tom shoves Harry down to sit on the sofa.

“Gentlemen,” he loudly greets the two police officers at their door. Harry has grabbed one of the glasses and takes a sip, coughing softly at the burn of the alcohol. Tom, meanwhile, has taken hold of Aurora’s hand and is guiding her in a seemingly easy dance. Harry sees his lips move, but he doesn’t catch what he says, the music drowning him out. Aurora doesn’t react, not that he can tell, so Tom may just be informing her of what’s happening.

The officers step into the apartment, one of them going for the player and pulling the needle off. It makes Aurora and Tom pause, both of them a little flushed.

“Cherie,” she murmurs, reaching for Neil almost immediately, her eyes wide. “What, is this?” she asks, her voice strangely soft, and suddenly heavily accented.

Harry blinks in surprise at the change. He’s kind of stopped noticing her soft French accent, the way some words sound just the tiniest bit off, when she says them. It is definitely noticeable now. Very hard to miss, actually. He’s not sure, if they are in an area where a French-Canadian woman would be a perfectly normal occurrence, or where she might stand out. But for whatever reason, Aurora chose to go with owning that part of her identity and accentuating it. Maybe because it would make it harder for her, to be found later, since her own accent is pretty far off from this exaggerated version of it.

“It’s okay, love,” Neil murmurs in his almost-Canadian accent, and rubs his hand down her back, decidedly lower than strictly necessary. Harry can see Aurora’s fingers curl into his side, digging in for a moment, and Neil quickly moves his hand higher up on her back. He has to bite back a snicker at that, has to fight back the panicked, hysterical laughter than tickles the back of his throat.

“Having a bit of a party?” one of the policemen asks, frowning at the alcohol on the table. Harry salutes him with his glass and takes a sip, fighting hard to keep from grimacing and spluttering at the burn of the alcohol.

“Of course,” Tom nods eagerly with this cocky grin of his. “Gotta celebrate young love, right?” he grins.

“Young love,” the one that stopped the music repeats, lifting his brows at them. Harry busies himself with another sip of his drink.

“Yes. I, uh, I just, proposed,” Neil stammers, offering a shy-but-proud grin before he beams at Aurora. “Isn’t that right love?”

“Ah oui,” she nods. “Yes, he, he asked me, to marry,” she smiles happily and Harry watches in mild horror as she pecks Neil’s cheek before she rests her head on his shoulder, smiling widely.

Seeing her and Villiers, that was, a little weird. They were so obviously in love with each other and tried very hard not to let it show in their every interaction. Harry lost count, of how often he saw them touch each other casually without them taking notice that they were doing it. Both of them, René and her, they’re usually so, contained, in their physical expressions, in their affectionate gestures. Seeing her now, with Neil, it feels so startlingly wrong and over-the-top that he is certain the two officers will be able to tell immediately that they’re faking it.

But to his surprise, the one that’s slowly walking around the room, looking around, he pauses. Watches them, an almost wistful expression crossing his face.

“So this is your engagement party?” he asks and Tom nods.

“Yes,” he says, before frowning. “Well, kind of. We’re gonna do something bigger, in a couple of days, but seeing as it just happened, it felt like we should, mark the occasion,” he shrugs, spreading his arms wide.

The two men in uniform exchange a long look, before the older one nods.

“Alright then,” he says and passes by the ‘young and happy couple’, patting Neil on the back. “Don’t let us interrupt your celebrations, then,” he says and motions for his colleague to follow him out. The four agents keep holding their breath, until they hear the door close and then the heavy steps on the stairs. Aurora steps away from Neil almost immediately and walks over to the sofa, flopping down next to Harry with a shuddering breath.

He hands her his drink and grabs the hatbox to set up the radio again, hoping that the two officers don’t decide to come back to check on them and why the music has stopped now while they wait for instructions from the camp.


End file.
